Mercy
by Dirtyfacade
Summary: In toxicity, Iscariot reigns supreme- An black comedy of pathology, gratuitous dysfunction and bizarre liaisons. WARNING: Slash, multipairings...
1. Thousand Kisses Deep

Disclaimer: This story includes profanity, confusing family dynamics/ abuse, homosexuality, homophobia, heterosexuality, mental illness, alcoholism, drug use, national prejudice, trash talking, corruption, abortion will be mentioned. (There's something for everyone here) May also show author's inability to write coherently, plot holes, general ignorance about Catholicism and all things holy. None of these characters belong to me.

Don't be offended by the material, although the material itself is highly "iffy", the self indulgent writing and atrocious grammar is offensive enough. Also don't expect it to make too much sense, its really more to see how many Iscariots I can to fall in bed together (I kid ofcourse, but not really). But if you've read this far, I salute you and assume you're a either a very understanding or questionable person. As for me, I will answer for all this in Hell later. Please leave a review or send me a message if you feel so inclined. I will respond with passionate gratitude.

* * *

This story is a romance about lovelessness, a comedy about unhappiness. You thought, how for so many years was it better to be here than out in the mean and nightmarish world. How wrong you were. You preferred the mystical withdrawal into the poetic nightmare of the soul, the writhing tumbling of fallen screaming damned and the brilliantly calm certainty of the saved, the exquisitely high pitched singeing desire for redemption, tears and conciliation behind blood red velvet curtains, saints and lepers, thorns and flames curling around pierced pulsing sacred hearts, and the plaster virgins,mystery rather than certainty. How could others stand the notion that cruelty, disaster and sudden insensible death reigns with no end, with no response, with no hope of salvation? How could one not become wicked or go mad? And where in this compacted mass of pain does love fit, hope or mercy, (wherever this be, you thought God must fit also).

You know know the man of God's lot is one of despair. Every day is a martyrdom where one pits his naked trembling faith against a arena of sneering indifferent faces and swims against a relentlessly increasing masticating tide of purposelessness and evil and apathy. The soul can be a place of suffering and horror just as much as the world is, but with the soul there is no hope of transport, no shelter from its own harm. Death ends bodily pain with the finality as a closed casket, the torment of soul lingers always, unresolved, afflicting the next generation to the next . (The sins of the Father shall be visited on the children) Yet it still considered to be far worse to be the destitute beggar than the wealthy barren-hearted banker brooding over his illusory goods and pleasures. Only the saintly being can pity with so pure of compassion the man who aches and starves for God as much as he pities the man who starves for food. Faith is the bitter knowledge of man's eternal failings and his futile attempts to transcend sin. Faith is an intangible and private agony and the search for divine grace can only be sought through revelations of pure suffering and willed humiliation, if it is somehow attainable at all, and once attained, if it is endurable.

It is with these lesion-like thoughts in your mind that you try and dutifully write down everything as you remember, everything that you have been privy to. You will try to record the events as an shaken, grateful and unscathed witness, detail the lives gone horribly awry, like trying to mend toys thrown about around in a forgotten unloved disordered doll house, like arranging scarecrows in a burnt field. You can only hope that in writing truthfully, in retelling it to yourself, the answers may reveal themselves.

It started with a confession- not yours, but his, a man you did not know.

How old was he you wondered. He had a strange youthful agelessness that men have before their middle age, looking like he could be anywhere from his late twenties to forty. Behind the grill, his skin glowed pale as lime, his eyes in pale velvety shade of mauve stared ahead languorously, insolently under a fringe of coquettishly long lashes. His gaze reminded you of those of a spiteful harem woman, or the thick enigmatic eyes painted on ancient Egyptian relief, beautiful but cursed looking. The man's hair was a ghostly white or a very light blond, the color of melted pearl and the oiled silk of a wedding gown. The tail end of his ponytail draped down his back like the tresses and ruffles of a petticoat, proudly and uselessly as a peacock's tail, or a bride's train. It was severely slicked back so not to detract from his face.

Admittedly it is a pale supercilious face but admittedly, it was also an attractive face with a byzantine elegance and a tint of the bizarre about it . All the components of beauty were there- his slender nose, his high cheek bones and arrogantly pouting lips. His exotic look had resulted in someone who could be outrageously beautiful, but his snide , evasive and profuse aura prevented that. Instead, he affected a slinky dignified moodiness, and seemed to you a sullen petulant kind of man . The man was immaculately groomed from starched whiteness of his collar to his wickedly glossy black shoes, from the fit of lilac colored vest and matching trousers, revealed his discrete foppery and an genteel interest in wealth.

But enough description. The man, Enrico Maxwell told you the beginning...

* * *

It had been a quite a night, where the dark is voluptuous and full rather than just bleak and black, a fantasy incarnate. It was unclear what was more outstanding- the aura of beauty or the aura of wealth- for most the two are synonymous. The guests faces took on a warm roseate glow and glimmered with the gold of their sweat, their mouths gross with oil, fingers sticky with split champagne. Iscariot's function room had been mildly revamped for the occasion, the end result was ugly and expensive, the grotesque glory of a treasure chamber in a fairy tale. Every object was laden, framed by sumptuous materials and textures- leather, silk, stamped gold, velvet, dark wood. The sheer quantity of materials made the scene look strangely theatrical, a stage set for big players.

There had been a private dinner and reception for the newly appointed bishop Enrico Maxwell and his "friends" cronies, rainmakers, collators, advisers, and all other politic types- both within and out of Iscariot, within and out of the church, mainly for his own purposes. His Holiness could make no appearance as he was traveling, but he had given some vague consent and that was enough.

Maxwell had smiled cheekily, prompting some knowing chuckles from his constituents before the event's start. "As the newly instated shepherd of Iscariot, it is my utmost pleasure to feed my flock" " and perhaps shear a little wool as well. Do not mistake my meaning, God's providence never desserts us, but at times He requires a bit of assistance and we as holy men, must deliver rich men from the sins and temptations of too great a wealth. As for tonight, I act as my brothers keeper- if only to prevent my brother from keeping it all for themselves."

And even earlier than that: "It is better a sybarite than a hypocrite, and better both than to be unenterprising."Maxwell had told Renaldo after the older man expressed concerns over the extravagance and cost of the event. "Besides money is like power my friend- you either accumulate it to the cost of all other things or-"The young man paused.

"Or what sir?" Renaldo had asked.

"You expend it" Enrico said airily. "which we intend to do."

" In the long term sir-" Renaldo said sternly.

Enrico raised a peevish hand to silence him. "My dear fellow, in the long term we are all dead. It is the short term that reckons to me. Rats always abandon a sinking ship. A large component of a holy man's appeal has always lain in his showmanship and aesthetics- as one turns outer reality, so one turns inner reality. In these circumstances, I would spend our very last cent if only to prove our wealth. And as the good book prescribes: thou shall cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days, yes?"

Renaldo cleared his throat, looking aside.

The young bishop lit a cigarette, massaging his temple with two fingers. " Besides, good will is an investment that cannot depreciate. I only spend that on which reflects well on our organization and myself- in order to perpetuate our legacy- that is if I find someone else to pay, as I most likely will. Some one must pay. And if it is me, I shall do much, much later."

At last the end. Enrico's farewells were just as lavish and fantastic as the rest of the evening. There was the pantomime of the assertive power grasps of hands, waists, and shoulders, the extravagant back and forth of each other's cheeks,the osculation of Maxwell' s enormous bishop ring, laughter and exclamations that were barking in volume. It was obvious that everyone was either drunk or very drunk. He did not hesitate to take advantage of socio-erotic scene. The Church was an institution of Love, fraternity of faith, and while the militant aspect of Iscariot encouraged grit and ferocity, the homestead (in appearance anyways), exalted more cultured and refined qualities.

The young bishop tirelessly hustled all his wealthy guests during the reception. Enrico charged an exorbitant amount for the dinner tables and seating, orchestras had been brought in, and also good news. There was a recent outbreak of violence in Derry in North Ireland. The promise of battle and conflict always promised of sensational favors and returns and when there was blood in the streets, it was time to invest.

Alexander Anderson was there, he was expected to come. As Regenerator; he was merchandise on display, a symbol of their technological might. Maxwell and Anderson had not spoken to each other - there was hardly the logistical opportunity. Maxwell had rather ghoulishly placed Anderson in a distant and public seat.

Of course Anderson was an object of fascination. At his towering height and build, he was a Goliath compared to all other guests. Anderson had always been intimidating, there is something unassailable, black and absolute about him. Anderson's cropped hair snarled about his thick brow, his coarse stubble and creased vestments were duly noticed. In a way, these lapses were part of Anderson's gravity as a formidable tested warrior, an unpolished rock of the church, as someone caught in the grips of some wildly profound mediation, not concerned with the glib appearances, too preoccupied in God... or in something, to care what others thought of him . Other times, his the roughness coupled with his size had the precisely the opposite effect and he looked craggy and lewd, his presence oppressive, a morbidly domineering bogey man.

As Anderson was situated, he was a conspicuously uncomfortable crooked figure in the midst of cupidity and revelry. He could barely fit his rumpled bulk into the chair, and with his shoulders hunched over, his knees hitting the table, his dark downcast face was pulled in a sneering apish grimace Anderson appeared to be cramped and humbled by his own mass, a man forced to put great constraint on himself, a fetus ready for birth, a morose great dane that tries to sits in a patch of too-small sunlight. If Anderson caught anyone looking at him, he would lean forward, and shoot a ghastly glare back, usually causing the offending party to look away quickly.

Simply put the aura of displeasure around the paladin tonight was so substantial, it was as if you could mold a sculpture out of it. The priest's aura also reeked tremendously of alcohol, his shrine-like arrangement of empty glasses and bottles encircling his seat attested to this fact.

Later in the evening, a waiter had gone to Enrico's side and whispered to him that a guest had single handedly drank four bottles of wine and had steadily drained two bottles of whiskey.

"I think it would be best , if we denied this guest further access to the bar sir." Renaldo said primly.

"Oh no no Renaldo." Enrico crooned. "It is no problem. This gentlemen is our guest and we mustn't be so rude to deprive him. Burst open the cellar doors and give him whatever he desires. In fact, give him even _more_ than what he asks for. But do keep the ice to a minimum. We wouldn't want our high spirited friend to _choke."_

Renaldo later meandered to Anderson's seat, his sense of weary alarm pinching him like pair of ill-fitting shoes. Slowly, ever so gently lay his hand on the paladin's thick shoulder.

"Is there anything you _need _Alexander." Renaldo inquired softly.

"Aye." Anderson muttered without a glance in Renaldo's way, swallowing the remaining contents of his tumbler. "A sharp knife."

Renaldo raised his hand off Anderson's shoulder carefully, as he were setting something back in place, he backed away.

Unlike the other exiting guests, Anderson sat with a drink fisted in hand watching the procession of party-goers with the detached bored disgust of a spectator watching a flurry of mindless moths swarm around a lamp.

Anderson would once and again, clean his glasses foreboding with a handkerchief There was an absurd and unnerving insistence in this fastidiousness, as everyone knew fully well that Anderson's glasses were props, useless. The Regeneration process ensured that the paladin's natural vision was better than perfect, however as the priest had worn glasses before, for whatever reason, Anderson decided he would continue to wear them whether they were necessary or not. Perhaps Anderson could not picture himself without glass after so long, or he wished to protect others from his eyes' green severity , or give the impression he had professorial learned interests . Anyways, no one bothered to ask.

It was soon clear that Anderson' was not simply watching but looking at something specifically. His green eyes flickered outwards, concentrating at a certain trajectory like ,a stone gargoyle looming over a cracked ledge, his gaze fixed in gloomy prisoner-of-war determination. The priest's mouth turned up indicating, some deadened nerve coming to life, some awful humor.

Renaldo finally traced Anderson's line of vision until it stopped at Enrico in the distance who was busily and vividly engaged as a hummingbird in the task at hand. The young bishop guided them towards the door, bowing and smiling, gesturing looking like Hermes, unctuous and sinuous, jocose and charmingly furtive. Enrico too in his handsome youth, and his off-kilter floaty grace seemed to glow like an opal in the small groups of men so standard and unremarkable they might have well been headless.

Best, Renaldo thought testily, to get Anderson out of here and soon, before Enrico noticed his strange behavior and was upset by it. Anderson leaned forward as Enrico turned back. Something brilliant, vicious and genuinely anxious flickered in Enrico's eyes as he caught Anderson's simmering wolfish disapproving leer.

So they finally saw each other. It was too late. Already, Enrico was looking around the room – checking. The important people had left and now the crowd consisted of the cipher.

With that, Enrico gave Anderson a challenging glance, and with a jerk of his pointed chin, strolled away with great flamboyance on his boyish elastic legs- away from his straggling guests, behind a curtain, out a side door.

The side door led to a quiet smoker's balcony. Enrico walked with practiced nonchalance, leaving the door slightly ajar with a tap of his hand. The balcony was long and narrow, not very wide and overlooked a neat and expansive topiary. The moon was a scythe in the bone chillingly cold.

Maxwell folded his arms around himself- he was not dressed to brave the elements. For this event he had worn a perfectly tailored black suit. Underneath, he wore an black with with a silver clerical collar, and an impressive sapphire and white-gold pectoral cross. He wore dark gloves to match. His expensive shoes with their slightly raised heels made his walk resemble a show horse trotting on cobble stones.

Enrico could hear someone behind him, the quick, foreboding steps of an assassin. The young man continued to walk for another ten paces. Then he stopped and the foot steps stopped as well. Finally an voice:

"Beautaful moon taenight, dunna ye think."


	2. Waiting for the Miracle

Thanks readers for waiting. Thanks for enduring the pretentious over-written prose and the glaring grammatical errors in the 1st chapter. I promise there will be plenty more of those. I warn: black humor and very long chapter. Sorry.

Also thank you Uni for reviewing! I am so pleased you've have enjoyed it so far and I hope you continue to enjoy it.

* * *

Maxwell's back remained turned through he could feel Anderson's stare drill through his neck.

"Yes it was, up until this moment." The bishop drawled in his lustrous accent tinged with an acerbic edge like a baroquely full bodied wine with a sour aftertaste.

The paladin rose out of the darkness like a leviathan and stalked forward with slow echoing steps and pendulous sways of his shoulders until he arrived behind the young man's heels.

"Yer not quiet." Anderson's voice was thick, sluggish and abrasive like a blunt saw through rotted bark. His breath humid with drink sprayed out from his nose and mouth in gloomy puffs like the smoke of a factory stack against the blackness of the night air. "Ah could follow teh clip-clip-clop sound of yer cloven hooves all o'er teh earth. Turn aroond laddie. Lemme git a gude look at yer bright face."

"Why should I turn around?" Maxwell murmured. "It is beneath me to let my contempt of you be seen. As your company to me is as vexatious as mine seems to be yours, I believe we both would like to avoid a meeting that would be futile as it would be unpleasant. Now that you appreciate my perspective, I imagine you will be wise and prudent enough to stay out of my way."

"Now Ah dunna come tae vex ye, ye clevardog."Anderson lurched forward and barked into the side of Maxwell's ear like an incensed sergeant. "Ah came tae congratulate ye onna yer big bloody EVENT! Teh greatest spectacle tae ever happen tae teh whole of mankind! Ye'd think ye been found in teh bulrushes and raised by Pharaoh himself eh! Sae glad ye could condescend tae come doon from yer throne innae Heavan MAX-WELLLL tae grace us wit yer presence teh evar- shinen lamp in teh universe."

Maxwell cringed forward, ears numbed and boxed from the priest's honking volume. He cast his eyes sideways to catch a disturbing glimpse of Anderson's string of pearl teeth bared as if they were about to crunch into his scalp.

"How fine of you. Now are dismissed." Maxwell's fastidious features convulsed as he averted his eyes ahead.

"Why dunna ye kindly dismiss yerself sir? Yer sufferen servant needs some air." Anderson slipped his gloved hand into his ragged coat to pull out a nearly depleted bottle of Machallan's 18 year scotch. He unscrewed the top and took a long bitter swallow, gulping and heaving, snorting with exaggerated loudness through his nostrils like a stricken horse."Then again ye been waiten here tae see me haven't ye? Ah'm teh guest of honor. Ah bet ma entrance has lit up yer evenen."

Maxwell swallowed and clenched his eyes shut. "I make this clear: I am very satisfied with our complete non-communication as I have no interest in accosting barbarians and contracting disease for my trouble. It is _you _who begin these confrontations as a raving pyromaniac sets fires. The fact that I respond to you at all does not bespeak any interest whatsoever. I do not want, under any conceivable circumstances to see, hear, touch and especially smell you. Your odor is that of a heap of dung macerated in whiskey, its fetidness enough to make a demon choke. And those _noises _you make. Have you forgotten how to breathe through your nose?"

" Ah'm glad tae see ye Maxwell, Ah can be teh wan tae tell ye teh smell of dung is comen from up yer white throat. Ah'm not surprised yer too afraid tae face me," Anderson spoke in a thrilling trill. "bur rhere's nae use hiden son. We haven't exchanged oor words yet."

With a long hissing sigh, Maxwell swiftly turned around only to bump abruptly into Anderson's giant unflinching chest. Grimacing with affronted astonishment, Maxwell stepped back to look into the paladin's eyes, or more precisely lenses. The priest's glasses hung suspended in the shadow of his face like two twin moons.

"Who wants to hide?" Enrico demanded. "Who shall lay any charge to God's elect?"

"Me thats who." Anderson leered as he sucked the inside of his sodden mouth." Who else bettar."

"I see." Maxwell spoke with slimy dreamy insolence. His eyes drooped with chilled contemptuous amusement to peer at the bottle tightly grasped in Anderson's fist. "Hmm. I assume you took that bottle off the street and not from one of my tables Alexander?"

"_Anderson." _The priest growled.

"Surely you are here to request another tub of whiskey. I am sure if you asked politely Alexander, the cleaning men would allow you to skulk about the room and guzzle down the remnants of all the remaining glasses, or they could siphon them all into an ox bladder for you."

Anderson ground his teeth. "Gude, then they can hold it open as Ah pull oot ma dick and piss innit."

"Disgusting." Maxwell hummed as he brushed past Anderson's shoulder with slinky swooping steps, with a lingering dismissive wave of his hand. His hair flowed behind him like a teasing banner.

"If only His Holiness could see the depth his warrior angel has fallen. Must your mouth be a fountain overflowing with filth? We are not in a ship yard. Check your decorum soldier, or are you not content to have your lack of self possession and opprobrious conduct known by reputation that you feel so inclined to exhibit them in person? Have you not dimmed the festivities and violated the sanctity of the evening enough?"

In response, Anderson guzzled down the rest of whiskey in one fatal swig. Then after taking several hopping steps like a rioter wielding a molotov cocktail, the paladin hurled the empty thumb-smudged bottle with whooshing ballistic force forward over the balcony. It vanished, a crystal pinpoint into the black gulf. Maxwell watched the scene with bleak forbearance.

"Ah'm jes gitten started sir. Sae ye can sanctity ma dim Scottish arse." Anderson slurred. His eyes fluttered as he pulled out a flask from his trouser pocket. 

Somewhere very far away, the bottle landed and smashed. 

"Aye, its nae ship yard, ye turned yer Father's house intae a chamber of money lenders, a _street corner, _as ye was flitten aboot like a tango dancer, turnen tricks like a real Judas prostitute!"_" _The priest bawled hoarsely as he stumbled to his right side and caught himself against the balcony's railing. " Sae much fer Parliament of God, it is _still _teh republic of Romans after all … wit teh same depraved auld bread and circuses! Excess that would make a pig vomit! Made me bloody ill. Ah had tae drink fer ma stomach's sake. Ah drank ma weights' warth, and even that wasnae enough tae wash clane teh memory of this atrocity."

"So you are drinking for your stomach's sake?" Maxwell spoke with acidic assurednessand gestured expansively like a conductor. "Then your stomach must be bottomless. Perhaps you intended to sterilize some gastronomical parasites? I suppose the worm of psychosis won't shrivel up and drown already. As for street corners, your scurrilous ravings would properly sate the degenerate palettes of those who frequent those so mentioned places. Also, I do not recall any one asking you for your opinion of the evening's events but you are right to equate the sustenance of bread, and how it aligns with the pleasures of the circus- one performs, then one eats. As the good Book says: A feast is made for laughter, and wine maketh merry: but money answereth for all things. When the situation requires, like Matthew I am not merely an apostle, I collect. It is my virtuoso performances that have kept our section from dissolving into a dog's breakfast, and these successes are no doubt God's blessing accompanying my labors. "

"Spakin of dog's breakfast, teh food tasted like wat comes after it, waste straight from a dog's rear tae teh plate."Anderson's head hung forward as he suppressed a drunken wretch. "If ye wished tae kill me, Ah'd much prefer a toom dish tae a poisonen."

"That is a robust assumption- you merely saw the dinner, not how it was prepared." Maxwell planted his hands on his hips. "But I shall not curse your want of delicacy. You are after all the connoisseur particularly in what is produced from the rears of dogs. What would have preferable to you ? Some rubbing alcohol and carrion in a tough?"

"Nae need fur that. If onlu teh chef could o' dragged teh dinner oot here and thrown it over teh railin." Anderson dragged the back of his hand over his mouth to wipe some milky crust at his lips' corner. "Spare me teh trouble of daen it later."

The bishop reached for his silver cigarette case and opened it with talon like dexterity. Placing one slim smoke in his mouth, he took out and flicked his silver initial engraved lighter. The cigarette lit, and burned like a demon's eye.

"How strange for I just had the most exquisite dinner. Unfortunately after seeing your bilious face, I could throw up, all over your dismal front. Sadly your presence would be no less insufferable than it is now. You were as sociable as a corpse during the whole affair, and haggard looking as if you had just crawled out of a tomb which may be the only dwelling suitable to someone as ill suited for life as you are. If only you were _perinde__ ac __cavader__. _I do not wish to exchange anything with you, and I may have lost my appetite forever. Go back to your children, seek some dark corner and purge yourself, you shameless degraded man." Maxwell began to saunter away only to impeded by Anderson's lengthy arm.

The priest stepped and stood in his path, looming over him like a hideous and lofty tower.

" Haven tae sit through that travesty and after bein exhibited like an animal, Ah wish A was a corpse, like other teh deid men in there, orderly in teh vault of deid, each lyen in their rancid place." Anderson rumbled in angry miserable rollings, like the churnings of a cement grinder.

"I like my animals untroubled, well trained and well groomed, not frothing from the mouth." Smoke spewed out of Maxwell's twitching nostrils like a steam from a boiling screaming kettle."This is how your reclaim your dignity? Now then, how else do you wish to further offend me with your vulgarity that only the most ignorant are capable? What else must you stick your nose into?"

" _JesumChristum et __hunc __crucifixum__, __ut et__connglorificemur_." Anderson glowered as the flask came up to his cracked and twitching lips. He drank then he let it fall to the floor. It clanged hollow, an abrupt punctuation.

"To attempt Latin with that bibulous brogue. You speak like a creature not of God's making, braying and cawing like an insane asylum caught aflame." Maxwell exclaimed as waved his wrist back and forth as if he could purify the air with a censer of cigarette smoke. "The only good use for that abominable tongue is to slice it off! You are an in essence a four letter word man, so do keep your vernacular clipped and short."

"Ah can't stand yer voice ethier. Every word ye spake is a scratch tae ma hart. Teh bastard edition of the drawl of teh upper ten thoosand eh? It matches teh git-up ." Anderson looked Maxwell scathingly up and down. "Like a _fancy_Venetian prince ye are. Wat hater of God created that cross, and that ring on yer hand truly brings oot teh deidness in yer aiyes. Teh only thang bigger than all those gems is teh chip on yer shoulder."

"I have a chip on my shoulder?" Enrico stroked his flawlessly smooth cheek with his velveted fingers "Better than on my face. But at least that mark on your cheek rather suits you."

"O,and why is that?"

"It is ugly "Maxwell purred with foppish spite, tapping his ash off his cigarette. "and ugly men should not be the judge of what is beautiful. I shall retire my rings only when you decide not to don beggar's rags to my functions. Pearls before swine as they say, diamonds before dogs. I for one have never believed in asceticism."

"Then wat dae ye believe in? Hedonism? In looken like an overcompensaten buffoon? In maken a duchess sick wit envy?

"I believe that God must help those with wealth."

"And wat of teh poor?"

"They can beg."Maxwell said tartly his cigarette hanging suggestively from his curling lower lip.

Anderson grinned broadly. "And sae yer bejeweled all o'e, wit satin and taff, eye catchen as a glowworm among maggots, a real embarrassment of riches!"

"So you're noticed my _atours_." Maxwell sneered pulling the cross to himself. He let the cigarette fall and crushed it underfoot, then turned to face the view of the garden before them.

" Such dress may only seem excessive to those who have no hope of being so acknowledged. As Iscariot's rightful and undisputed bishop, I am the beneficiary of all that causes us to cohere. As the representative of Iscariot, my position requires that I exude a sense of divine mission and that I create an image of prosperity around my person. Showmanship depends on a great imagination and an even greater treasury. Thereby I establish the machina that produces the deus. I must ensure that the external can do justice to its insides and that one reaps benefits proportional to one's status. I provide with a unique, beautiful and tangible reflection of the many elements that contribute to the elusive and exclusive joie de vivre that is our faith. Of course this element of life resides in access to the best of everything. For as humble as I naturally am, I cannot present an item that appears to be spiraling down to nil now can I?"

"If that's item yer looks, gude luck tae ye. Teh way ye strut aboot, ye must think that ye float upon us like a swan, a build like David, wit locks made of angel harp strings?" Anderson grunted. "Aye,yer a beautiful bastard, wit yer curls that came off a wee lass' doll, and deid fish-colored eyes, skin the color of milk mixed wit water and clear and soft as boiled onion, and a physique dainty and light as a tick, slender as a horse leech. Nae wonder it was sae dark in teh room and ye wore teh whole damn treasury, sae we could better gaze upon yer _fairness_. It even distracted from yer receden hairline and greasy foreheid and that indacent ponytail- as men who grow their hair long ought tae be strung up frum it. They're all up tae nae gude."

"And what an object you make tonight!" Maxwell smiled repellingly over his shoulder. "May God have mercy on my soul, for He has none for my eyes. No doubt He had the inspiration for Hell after creating your form. You are a wreck, but a wreck of genius, the visage of autistic bulldog, the hide like a small-poxed elephant, skewered atop of the body of a bloated black hairy spider, put together with the aesthetic care of a mass grave, the overall effect is of a morass of putrefying meat, a big gnarled stump, torture of the senses personified. Your greatest weapon to our enemy must be your very being, as to withstand any proximity to you is reminiscent to enduring one of the ten plagues. Pity. You may even been striking the way an apocalypse is striking to behold. As you are now, you insist on looking like a beast with many horns. But you cannot wear your muscle dimorphism in a more palatable way no?"

"Huh. If it serve me tae wear it, it serve ye tae look at." Anderson pounded his chest with a brisk fist. "It takes a lot of effort tae look this hardy."

"Yes for just how long did you roll about in your own filth? A bad coat may conceal a fine character, but until you can persuade anyone of this, getyourself a better coat. You are the steward of eighty children and it looks like they all must have all stepped on your face with their dirty little feet!" Maxwell flung out his sinewy fingers, tsking. "Let us not forget your long standing mental problems-"

"Wat'd ye say?"

"What did I say? I meant to say …._dental_ problems." Maxwell licked his lips. "You've had all your teeth replaced for the fifth time yes?"

Anderson pulled up his own lips like how an owner might to reveal a dog's teeth. " Ma oon teeth been knocked out duren encounters wit teh enemy. All of these beauties are medals won fer the Lord! "

"Yes , grand victories over the most basic of human hygiene. Lately you appear so unclean you appear to be growing some sort of bristly face mould."

"Its called stubble lad. Its naethang tae fear." Anderson ran his hand affectionately over his jaw. "Ye'll find oot aboot it wan day when yer testicles descend. Ye'll find oot a lot of thangs that won't be tae yer liken. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, befur they turn tae sores. as men of yer kind gae from unripe tae rotten.

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "And what kind would that be?"

"Come noooooow." Anderson chuckled , a brutal bottomless sound . "There's no need to paint legs on a snake is there sir? Meenen callen ye an anemic milksop is redundant Maxwell. Ah bet it gaves teh Protestants delight that we have teh world's bonniest eunuch as our leader. Ah'm sure its delighten lot of oor brothers too. Gae intae the ranks and ye couldn't swing a deid cat witout hitten wan of that persuasion. Thats wat they like isn't it, teh look of effete _unseasoned _youths? Could be that ye persuaded mony teh light of yer flamen was a halo, a beacon tae us all. And they call ye a bishop, ye looken more and more like a queen!"

Maxwell lit a new cigarette, a insinuating grin bleed onto his distinct pale face. He inhaled slowly as his eyes glimmered with a disquieting delight.

"I do have title, unrestricted mobility and an army at my disposal. Better a queen, than a pawn I say... for if I am what you say, what must you be then- an anemic milksop's blasphemous underling_?_ I have approval and the mandate of the Holy See and His Holiness himself. I hope you do not mean to suggest that they have all erred unscrupulously? For that my friend is an indication of heretical inclinations, and injurious to my sacred office, and a breach of our Catholic unity!" Maxwell teased as smoke unravelled off the tip of his wine stained tongue like an evil fog.

"But the charge is so absurd, it simply causes me amusement. My brilliance you so_ cunningly_ elude to certainly must have been a beacon to you who seek me _._There is a beautiful irony to be accused with such perversity from a fellow who is so crawling fixated on the details of my appearance and also seems to possess an unusual wealth of knowledge about the preferences of that unspeakable set. They do say: _Honit soit qui __mal __pense__._"

"Ye' d like tae think that, wouldnae ye."

" All I think how puerile and pathetic your culmalinations are, as no one shall attend to them. You are rudely unaware of the gravity of this occasion. You have been so fortunate to witness a miracle of my making." Maxwell asserted blithely.

"In ma day, a boren cocktail party fur jaded Pharisees, a gatheren of gilded dogs sniffen and tryen tae mount each other behinds did not a miracle make. The only miracle Ah thought Ah saw was that Ah nevar thought sae many cocks could be nursed on in wan evenen! But Ah'm right here if ye'll be wanten tae make a believer." Anderson hollered, gesturing to his lap.

"How generous." Enrico drawled, his mockingly appraising eyes drifted down to Anderson's crotch as he sucked on his cigarette ."Alas I _choke_on small objects. No doubt there must be a cause to one might have to carry bayonets the length of one's legs hm?"

"Ma bayonets dunnae compensate fur me sir." Anderson opened his enormous hands like a show man presenting himself . "Ah _compensate_ fer them.

There was a three second silence as the men stood frozen in their stances.

"I have been compensating for our collected _galling deficiencies_ from invidious eyes all evening" Maxwell finally snapped and looked away, smoke seeping from his relaxed lips. "and those jaded Pharisees as you so call them, have kept this section out of dirty mouth of our enemies. Intelligence work is the work of gentlemen. They are fine fellows who have contributed and deserve our utmost respect."

"And how does a puffed up wee- pygmy like ye fit wit their fine company?"

"Even fine decent men can dodder and die out can't they." Maxwell sighed. " Young blood keeps the house alive."

" Young blood? Who needs it?" Anderson cried. "We're all deid tae teh world. "

" Ah but some of us are buried higher and less rotted. Are we not all links in the chain of command of God's love? Should we dare deprecate the system and the orderings that rendered great deeds such as the crusades possible? We must capitulate to His will, even if that quashes us at the very bottom. As bishop, I ascribe all of my charges wholly unto God. Our designations do not create divisions between men - it merely dignifies them. I am simply more spiritually endowed then you are. When you reject my sacred and superior status, you thereby reject His Holiness and God's divine order." Maxwell announced.

"Thats nae in teh bible." Anderson slurred.

"Perhaps you should look at the words and you may understand it better." Maxwell claimed snootily. " The bible is a book of precedents." He dropped and stomped his cigarette out once hard as to stamp the point in. "_So there_."

" Oor Lord in Heaven respakes nae persons, He doesn't sit on nae high horse, He's doon in teh field, wit those who wark in teh field. Ah see nae precedent in teh Gude Word fer a bunch of drowsy stingless drones, moanen aboot teh toils of sloth and counten their money! Ah'm like Esau who hunts teh game, and meenwhile Jacob, ye clevar men sit at yer desks and inherit teh farm." Anderson snarled.

"Yes." Maxwell spoke incredulously. "You are reminiscent to Esau- in his revolting hairiness and gross sense of proprietary, too busy wrangling game to receive his godly blessing. Arrogantly crediting yourself for the gift we clever men's laborious efforts have inherited to you and sustained for your sake! You are the descendent of generations of our tireless technological strivings, a specimen of the finest workmanship perfected, a divine apparatus ennobled by the powers of our illuminating enthusiasm and our impeccable erudition! Does that not deserve some recognition?"

"Nae much. Everywan knows that bureaucrats are a den of cork sniffen idiots. In wan hour Ah dae more than most of ye who floated intae office on their wine barrels have done in yer worthless lives. If Ah was tae smack any wan of ye on the back, Ah'd be choken frum a cloud of dust. Yer kind is idle baggage, deid weight that Ah've carried on ma broad ugly shoulders fur more than thirty years. Praise God that Ah've never shrugged any of ye off. Not yet." Anderson cracked his neck and knuckles gruesomely." Its ma strength that lends might tae yer weak tremblen arms, its ma sword whose point is wetted fer the Lord's service. Ah'm yer trump card, yer ace in teh hole."

"Oh yes, you are many things. A Neanderthal with a silver spoon in his mouth for one, a glorified knife thrower and overwrought Sunday school teacher, an idiot savant of barbarism, a repository of irremediable duties discarded by a higher class-" Maxwell recounted caustically.

"Ah'm nae discarded or made remeed-able by ma duties; Ah hold an honorable vocation and have grate predecessors, King David, Christ. Our faith is love and grace, nae fer lunch meetens or an excuse fer a man tae wear devilish lavender trousers, it is a refuge, a shield, a joy but its nae check. Wat Ah dae is tae important tae be prim and delicate, Ah'm impassioned by the Holy Spirit. Ah may be nae gentleman but Ah answer ma fucken purpose. Ah've made sacrifices. Ah've seen a man eaten alive by a brood of thristen vampires, Ah've severed ghouls and men limb from limb not knowen the difference-" Anderson began.

"Only you would exalt your work by describing with modesty of an open sewer and the elegance of a slaughterhouse. Is not _so _horrible is it? If you lose an arm, we buy you a new one and do not feign that a pugilist such as yourself does not like to put himself unto peril the same way an aesthete puts himself unto beauty every so often. Scripture tells us also: Obedience is better than sacrifice. Sacrifice does not necessarily signify humility or service, nor shall it bring us what we desire. Nor can one truly claim to be selfless and sacrificing through the loud bragging that he is so. And can there be no other sense of valor other than those that involve bloodying oneself up to one's shoulders, no other means of combat, save one's fists? The glorious qualities of the instrument needn't compete with the glory of its use. There are many enemies to the crusader: the worse of course being finances, resources, and protocol. While you simply carry the orders out, I must create it from the ether- I conceive it, provide capital and gain support. I must be a maestro to your mere mutilator. So while you may be formidable, I am afraid I am more so. You only have to face a brood of ravenous soulless bloodsuckers occasionally- I work in the office, I face such types daily."

" And while you are... enthused, but the fact that you possess passion does not excuse its misdirectedness. Your style of fanaticism is better suited for those whose habitation is not in a chamber of communion, but a bell tower in Notre Dame or thickly padded cell. For salvation and brotherhood can only be achieved by holiness not by busyness, rusticity or insanity. A true passion for Christ is consistent with the precision of intellect: not with one's innately muddled and morbid susceptibilities. A hot headed zeal is not borne according to godhead, but to animal impulsivitythat can only culminate in savagery and disaster. A temple prospers better upon Calvary than it does upon on Pompeii and quietnear imperceptible exchanges are more often effective than the most bombastic violent stunts. Good work is often secret work." Maxwell said haughtily. "But I see since you cannot comprehend my stature and you do not have the figure to wear lavender, you disparage both things."

" Secret wark eh? Nae doubt ye set yer sights on bein a naughty prolific boy-"Anderson lilted. " Yer tail has been growen longer and longer. Those street and abortion shootens in Derry... ma gut tells me ye had samethang tae dae wit."

"You condemn me because of a stomach cramp? An interesting rumor though. I normally do not address or associate myself with petty intrigues... sometimes though, I do not object circulating a small yarn to add to an effect, but agitators I cannot abide. It's treacherous to supply any opposition with horror stories."

Anderson snorted. "Unless they come under yer conniven considerin."

"I'm sorry. I do not understand." Maxwell said cuttingly.

"Ye've been collecten scraps of private information fur years- anythang yer graspen magpie of a mind can get on incase ye need it. Yer strength is all paper strength. That is when yer not causen confusion and mistrust witin teh ranks - that way yer men can't group taegather tae touch ye."

"If only I too were intoxicated beyond comprehension... I might make sense of what you say!" Maxwell clasped his hands behind his back. "What is contained in those files are in the interest of order and security, to suppress activities which are inimical to our faith. As in a body, each joint must move in concert with the other parts. Grievances and corruption reports are essential to maintain the harmony and homeostasis of the church corpus. Unsavory elements must always be purged from any group and I as bishop serve as a panacea."

"More like a bloody enema."

"Ugh. Sickening - you make a martyr of any metaphor. "

"Aye, will ye put that in ma file?" Anderson spat. "Along wit ma used tissues and watever else garbage is in there?"

"I have seen your _papers_." Maxwell smiled oddly. "Don' t feel exceptional- I read all the files. I wouldn't want to lose a chicken. Like you, your cabinet is cumbersome and without much content."

"Aye." Anderson nodded. "Ah'm wat they call ...enigggggg...matic."

"I believe the proper term is _empty."_

"Empty. That's rich comen from a slippery dago twit, who take a position unless it makes him money or it covers him like a wet stone covers a scorpion." Anderson grumbled.

"A dago you say? Must I remind you what stinking incubation, what horrid heredity you fermented from, _Scotsman_? You are bred of the most hopelessly addled dour and stupid race on the planet whose biggest achievements have all been to create even more primitive activities to express their primitive capacities!" Maxwell scoffed.

"And there is no slipperiness in my stance. Yes, heathens are evil stains upon the earth, unbearable to my soul, and indeed, the duty to love my neighbor does not negate my duty to kill them if need be- lovingly, piously of course. Every act of expiation is justified- for all is fair in love of Christ and war against the devil. My pity I reserve only for the men who are the victim of necessity and have to carry the terrible burden of having to commit such grave sins, and my cruelty is a _benevolent _cruelty- cruelty meant to affect the greater good, exposit our principles or protect them with all our powers and resources. In that way it cannot be called cruelty but a rigorous course towards His will. For what is love if it hinders us from achieving union with Our Lord? What is mercy if it obstructs the right of those strong and righteous to subjugate evil? Yes God's wrath may be great, but it can be too slow for my liking. In a sweltering ocean of impious pigs we must act as butchers. Should we wait for Hell to punish these creatures when we can satisfy ourselves with their wretchedness now? Must we pray for Heaven when we could establish the Kingdom of God on earth? Paradise might rise up like from under the bodies of infidels, in either case I much rather have a profusion of blood than a sty of swine. " Maxwell spoke sharply.

"Even with this in mind, I cannot see how blasting Protestant sows and their whore begotten litters to bits serve our interests. Such vermin are as ineradicable as weeds, cutthem down they will only spring up again! Their loathsome lives are of such small value, even to themselves, that they murder their own young without encouragement. I say- let those pullulatingpests flush themselves away like so much excrement. I despise mess. I despise costly exertions. None of that squealing multitude could be worth the ammunition it took to blow them to Hell."

"Gude Heavens Maxwell." Anderson grunted. "Ah could have killed every rat and man in this builden in the time it took ye tae make that streamen crock of speech. "

"But I digress" Maxwell continued irritably. "For making erroneous remarks about my moral quality proves nothing, nor does it absolve your pernicious deeds. Your sin is as gargantuan as your Goliath like construction, yetyour pride has helps you to imagine that your sin is as small as your self- restraint. How is it that your ruthlessness is sanctified? You single handedly have drunk more wine and spilt more guts than any guest in attendance tonight- yet you feel you have the right to be my accuser, judge and interrogator all and expect me to countenance this ridiculous inquisition?"

"Only tonight's guest?" Anderson said with a proud disturbing smile. "Give a man his due. Ah've done more harm that that! At least Ah dunnae sin by proxy. Ah risk ma oon arse and Ah sin by ma oon _two _hands, not wit a single wan, as Ah rather put some gusto in it and have pure blood on 'em rather than filthy water. Sides, every single wan of em deserved it..."

The priest scratched his chin as if to think.

" Ah'll tell ye a story. Ma first Ah killed Ah drowned him in his oon piss. He was a deviant, piece of shite liked tae spy on and molest young girls. Ah saw him once lingeren around a local schoolyard- Ah cut off his heid and castrated him."

"That was all necessary?" Maxwell deadpanned.

" Aye, t'was self defense." Anderson winked.

"Let me consider your narrative for a moment: so you say drowned him- was this before or after you castrated him?" Maxwell sneered, gesturing bewilderedly. "Or did you drown his decapitated head? How, dare I ask, did you even procure that much urine from him in the first place? "

"Hmm. Yer asken me? " Anderson paused. "It happened as Ah tole ye. Are ye callen me a liar Maxwell?"

"No." Maxwell rolled his eyes." You and I are not liars. But we cannot deny that we may say something not true in order to make an impression, or we may make people believe what is not, if it is in our interest to do so- as for lies, we tell no lies."

" Wat Ah say Ah've done, wat Ah'll say Ah'll gladly dae again. If ye wish it, Ah could demonstrate how sir-" Anderson bowed facetiously.

"No thank you. Whether you roast deviants alive over a bed of coals is a matter of complete indifference to me. I'd rather concern yourself with your own sin, and inquire not into mine. We could go eye to eye, and match blight to blight but it would take a very long time and also if we weren't such terrible sinful men, why else would we need God? All I suggest is that if you cannot be virtuous, be discrete. The only reputation that concerns me is the larger one at hand. For it is best for us all that I assume that given your position and the contributions to our faith, that you always fulfill your duties with unblemished credit to our illustrious organization. I shall always place our interests over everything else." Maxwell clucked sarcastically. "Salvation, repentance, damnation , these are the tenets the Lord hath made for our business's esteem."

"A gude business shares teh money Maxwell. Gitten funds from ye fer teh orphans its like tryen tae git blood from a stone and Ah seen here fer maself wat camels ye've swallowed after strainen at all those gnats!" Anderson spat."In the aiyes of God, ye have nae importance if ye have nae regard fur children. Christ said himself. "Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones." Ye were once in their lot, and because yer ashamed frum teh place ye came frum, ye give 'em a pittance. They dune naethang wrong, why should they suffer fur yer shame ?"

"Yes why should children _suffer_ to come to you and then suffer to have to stay? They suffer for a sin they did not commit, proof of Adam's fall and they participate in the result thereof. How is wealth accrued? By delaying payments. The Lord must provide us our meal before giving us commissions. It is unwise for the shepherd to feed the sheep, unless he is sufficiently fed. We spend enough maintaining your living body, it is by generosity that we permit you the bucolic life and that nanny hobby as a form of compensation attended to by your unique status. It was also considered that you would only feel comfortable around your intellectual equals, such as deprived children, and country rabbits. However Iscariot is not a social service. If we bear an expense, we all must eat it. I myself feel no indebtedness toward Ferdinand Luke's. That _place _could be razed to ashes, the orphans sold into slavery and I would not shed a tear... except tears of joy perhaps" Maxwell muttered and sulked A pit is owed a pittance! To I think of how much I have progressed from that hole- I take my own breath away."

"Ye've sure come a long way laddie." Anderson ground his teeth. "frum bein born an incidental bastard tae becomen an vicious malicious bastard wit Satan nippen at your behind further and further up the ranks."

"That will soon to be arch-bastard to you." Maxwell pursed his mouth. " My career is only at its beginning of its glorious course."

"More like yer vainglory canard. Ye think yer fallen estate impresses me? Ye act as if ye have teh keys of Heavan hangen from yer balls- that Ah should be yer crouchen vassal else lest ye'll snap yer finger and Ah'll fall through a hatch through teh ground straight tae Hell. Ha. Yer jes a serpent in Shepherd clothes presiden over a gang of wolves in sheep clothes. Like shite and oil,ye floated tae teh top in a shallow pool and now ye git tae throw yer weight around in God's army of incompetents and heretics!" Anderson hooted and then raised his open hands like a supplicant asking for a boon.

"Aye, HEAR ME O ANGELS and teh blessed saints, BOW BEFUR teh king buzzard in a legion of vultures, captain of oor ship of fools, top of teh bottom-feeders, teh highest heid in teh gutter! May he wark his spite everlasten! May oor church bloom in the hands of a spoiled greedy child!"

" A clever, successful child." Maxwell seethed, his shoulders hunching like an irked feline. "Does not the kingdom of God belong to children?"

"If teh kingdom of God belongs tae teh likes of ye, God save me frum teh kingdom of God." Anderson jeered.

"But it does belong to me. What is that you have that I do not also have? Of your orphans you may be their father of sorts but they most first and foremost belong to their Mother, the church. But when you think of it nothing in your fiefdom is yours, it is lent to you. Not even your body. Pound for pound you are _mine_. You are by extension my tissues, my chest, spleen, my palms, my membranes, my orifices. It is church chattel that you use to eat, drink, sleep, rend and devour, for you are a part of the fallen estate under my stewardship. How does that sit on your head?"

"Frankly, Ah'm let doon fer ye child. Ye obviously resigned yerself tae bein buggered by teh Mornen Star's unholy legions fur teh rest of time, but this is how you waste yer short-lived oonership of a trampled dirty earth, gloaten about maken a slave offa me and ownen ma arsehole?" Anderson snorted.

"Why not? That is a more valuable possession than your brain" Enrico cooed. "Why should I gloat over a millstone around my neck? Your ambitions are vested solely on how long your physique can withstand the ravages of brute punishment. Given your quickly _advancing_ age and your taxing livelihood, you will soon know resignation. The moment you begin to feel stiffness in your joints and your hands tremble but a little-"

"Ye'd catch me sae much as _sneezen__,_its-" Anderson made a gruesome noise of gutting and made the sign of a throat being cut across his neck. "but ye'd strangle teh pope if ye caught him dozen in his chair! Yer liven fer teh sole hope of haven teh plazure of climben up tae the highest branch and watchen others fall as ye shake yer rump at 'em. Ah'm sure yer already chosen teh space where ma heid's tae be mounted."

"Do not be absurd." Maxwell beamed horribly. "I find the mounting of heads is very vulgar, as well yours would be no trophy. The only suitable use for your hardened head would be my footstool!"

" Ye'll have tae wait a while yet. Ah've been around a long time and Ah dunnae git this far jes by bein a pretty face. Ah'm teh best at wat Ah dae and teh best they'll ever be. Ah've outlasted far better men then ye and Ah been taken bigger pricks than ye up ma arse befur ye were even a twinkle in yer goatish father's eye." Anderson glared.

" Sae ye've had a whiff of power and ye think its yer turn tae play tyrant? Sad thang is everywan but ye can see yer jes teh pretender of teh moment, a warthless favorite, a yanked and dancen puppet. Ye rose up far too quick, like a firecracker -ye'll burst and fade oot jes as quickly. In this line of wark, teh more successful ye are, teh faster ye die. At teh rate yer gaein, ye'll end up innae bunker while Berlin burns. Ah saw fer maself how yer friends held their trinkles above yer nose, made ye beg and fetch fur it all night at yer oon feast. Like watchen a piper and his bitch! Teh last part of ye that has any self- respake probably wants tae die. Ah'm surprised ye aren't screamen right now."

"Ah git keen ears too. Know wat Ah heard? Most of yer guests think yer naethang but a worm who managed tae slither in a rotten core by flattery. Along with maken a fortune becomen the clergy's social gadfly and sellen black market weapons and supplies tae disreputables . Course they said it nicer and nastier than that. Those old men in there like crawlen salamanders like ye that tickle their fancies. Ye'll lick 'em till ye burst and then they'll tire of ye."

"Lord deliver me from the barbs of a doddering herd of mental old uncles, lest they scowl the soul outfrom my body. " Maxwell cackled, smacking a hand over his forehead like a cheesy starlet. "And most likely you are confused, even if there is some modicum of truth to what you say, you speak it so poorly it has no effect whatsoever! I do not care what they think of me... since most of them, you especially, barely have the capacity to think at all. Why should I take stock in you, a ruffian who scarcely feels alive unless he is probing into another's affairs while absolutely refusing to let anyone to probe in his. I suspect you dread the possibility that one may employ or even may _possess_ the faculty of thought or judging your activities. "

"Wat other men think of me is none of ma business. Teh only judgment that matters is God's. When Ah act on His behalf, He dunna complains, sae Ah figure Ah'm daen His wark tae His liken! Ah can't wait till Judgment Day tae be sure wit teh Almighty if Ah'm daen right. Be fair sir. God's only wan who always judges rightly. Ye can't hold me tae _those_ standards. " Anderson

"Or any it seems. You seem to be an endless series of contradictions, all designed to spurn all endowments of human reason. Treacherous murderer or tender father, with you, such distinctions must be meaningless, or else you must be a mighty Samson indeed holding two pillars apart, until the entire structure collapses atop you. Two vocations allows for twice the deceit I say! " Maxwell rejoined.

" Haven two vocations doesnae make me a liar. Ah'm a servant of two truths, both of 'em are plazen in teh eyes of teh Lord, He hath made ma hart both tender and hard. Care fur teh innocent, kill sin. Where's teh deceit? Ah nae less maself when Ah read teh bairns a story than when Ah'm decapitaten heathens." Anderson declared.

"I hope for your sake you will never confuse the one with the other, No wonder you have such a large husk, There must be independent characters, the whole of creation inside you."

"Aye, Ah'm a vast man." Anderson cackled.

"Vastly hypocritical yes." Maxwell said snidely. "But I am glad for you that you feel yourself to have so many facets to your character, besides terrorizing that tribe of little savages at the orphanage, as well as serving as the reigning denizen in my most abhorrent nightmares."

" Ye dunna mind hypocrites dae ye Maxwell? Only if they're better at it than ye are, and ye'd know well of contradictions! Yer a self-haten narcissist, vanity suppen with envy. cowardice wit viciousness, desperation and pride! " Anderson remarked . "And if ye dared stopped yer affects and airs, ye wouldnae know wat was in ye."

"Oh, you call me those things? That is the pot calling the kettle black bodied, no? Dare the harlot cast her petty stones? Are you not compelled to conceal yourself in extreme caricature knowing it is impossible to reveal how much you deviate from all the rest of us? Perhaps you believe all us persons are simply some actors you come see assume poses upon your cue. Having none who feel with you a common nature and incapable of seeing beyond your swollen head , you can only be a presumptuous spectator and robotic player that acts, then reenacts and thus assures himself of his own rectitude. But this is no theater. If you prick me, I do in fact bleed. ..." Maxwell retorted sullenly.

" Snakes bleed too and Ah wouldn't presume tae _prick _ye" Anderson muttered ." If its pricks ye be wanten, ye be heid back in. St. Sebastian was pierced as "an urchin is full of pricks", Ah'm sure ye'd love taefollow his example up yer backside. Whether ye see it, Ah understand far too well. Yer heid's a hive of wasps, a carnival of demons. Being despicable gaves ye glee, and ye succeed wonderfully at it, but ye wilt befur teh consequences. When ye dae yer damnable wark, knowen ye that can't be undone, yer rankness eat at ye like rats and teh longen tae be punished becomes a sweetness, a growth on teh mind. Only problem is ye have the child's want fer chastisement, along wit the madman's desire tae git away wit it. Befur teh honest truth, ye feel teh hate and resentment a criminal must feel when confronted by a gude man, but yer oon hate and ache is yer daily bread."

"Who died besides Jesus on the cross? Criminals. Of course there is nothing criminal in posing to be what one is not. Legally criminal that is. I do not say I am saint-like, no, no but if I were to appreciate hardship it is because it is a pleasure to suffer every trial for the sake of Our Savior. Is it not the duty of a Christian to despise and be so loathed by a godless world? As a disciple of a crucified lamb, I am privileged to mimic Him in his solitude, in his sufferings. The unfaithful are undeserving to follow and share in Christ that path of pain and persecution. I find that your hostility is a most appropriate sentiment in the occasion of confronting another's superiority- that would be mine. " Maxwell boasted, running a hand through his ponytail.

"Heh. There's nae point." Anderson laughed without humor. "Dealen wit ye is like wrestlen wit a pig, Ah git dirty and teh pig loves it."

" If I am a pig you are the grime stuck in my trotter!" Maxwell scowled. "You see no point, so why do you persist in this? _Am I a sea, or a whale, that thou __settest__ a watch over me?" _

" Quoten teh book of Job?" Anderson leaned in, intrigued. Wat dae ye think that book was all aboot?"

" Even God has to prove his power." Enrico replied. "To Him, Job's suffering is a contest of wills."

"Sae this a contest tae ye? Who dae ye think is Job and who's God here?"

"There is no contest between you and I, we are not parent and child, student and teacher. You are no shadowy, bogy or tormentor, you are not even my equal. How stupid that I should be counted a rival to my _inferior." _Maxwell hissed . _"_ Do what you like with your children, for they are your toys, but you must take care in how you deal with me. You can no longer enlist me to participate in these foul "games" of yours."

"Yer play acten are warse than any child's games. They're child's play witoot teh harmlessness, witoot teh innocence , witoot teh fun." Anderson smiled unsettlingly. " Ah'm playen cause ye invited this. Yer enjoyen this far more than Ah am. As in hide and seek, teh child wishes tae be caught and needs tae lose, more than teh adult wants tae win. As always, Ah'm yer beast of burden."

Maxwell snorted. "You mean burdensome beast! For you see, I would like to accommodate you, to treat you respectfully, generously and render your life less odious- but it is your behavior that forces me to be keep you like a animal. Try to allow this to sink within the frame of your inebriate conception. Tonight I let you drink to your predilection did I not? I simply allowed you what you desired. "

"It wasnae wat Ah _desired_." Anderson leered.

"It did seem to be that way when you were draining the Vatican storehouses dry an hour ago. Now you are more indisposed then that of the most dissolute persons and forcibly detain me to witness this demented fit, how very typical of your sadistic disorderly character. If any time is given to you, any favor granted, you become unruly and utterly destructive. To permit you your will is the same as wishing you to destroy yourself. Yes go ahead and do as you please, you'll dominate yourself to bedlam or extinction." Maxwell snapped.

"But isnae that's wat ye want." The older man growled with grim suspicion.

"No- clearly it is what _you_ want. All I want is not to be bothered you understand? I would not be concerned with you at all, if it not were for this impertinent visitation." Maxwell sighed. "Alexander-"

" _Anderson." _The priest growled.

" Anderson, Alexander, I could call you _Pontius__ or Mary Magdalene _it would make no difference. Whatever you call yourself is probably a fabrication." Maxwell said flippantly. "You are the most obstinate and irrational person I had ever had the misfortune of encountering, like a rock of madness. Can you not cease this idiocy? We both know you are not distressed by my speech or behavior at all. You are simply determined to seize every trifle as a pretext to disagree with me."

"Yes, no responsibility can be dignified if it comes by my concession, and all that is iniquitous in this world must be assigned to my fame. You only invoke God and morality against me to belittle my great accomplishments which you resent because it is not yours. You seek to persecute me with your mean and hateful affliction from which you are suffering at present, and it is not the desire that I acknowledge you because I should never refuse you that, but it is your base fury that you must acknowledge me . As your eminence, you rely on my constitution. Alas having little sense or influence, you can only heap on asinine tedious arguments of seemingly inexhaustible variety. I have no doubt to my claim or impediments to my purposes. You should not imagine for a second that you can constitute one, but since you do and insist besides on nourishing some ludicrous illusion of authority over me, I have no option but to receive you in mockery and exasperation, a ranting farcical King Lear-"

"Sae young and sae untender..." Anderson muttered.

"So young my lord,but true. I have confidence in myself that I will have the leisure to savor this conversation at length and reap compensation commensurate to _this _moment of chagrin, but as for all moments preceding it? _When I was a child, I spake as a child_, _I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. _You are a very childish monument I have put away, Whatever it is I achieve now, has absolutely nothing to do with the circumstances of my youth. That time is but a shadow and I scarcely conceive of you as existing except as a tool grown in human shape and a very vague unpleasant memory. It is as if you have died. Despite your feeble attempts to revive yourself to me, I utter your elegy here tonight. You musn't let this knowledge drive you _mad."_

"Is that yer aim Maxwell?" Anderson 's eyes were as dark and dense as knots of barbed wire. "tae drive me mad?"

"I would not have to drive you very far now would I?"Maxwell spoke with a sweetly venomous smile creeping into his gentle tone. " That I , more than a quarter of a century your junior reign over all that you have staked your life, that you must defer to the child that shames you, I can understand, may feel to be the final straw. Alas, this is the condition we find ourselves! It is no generous error that you delude yourself with, as to adjure my dominion is not only undignified but quite mad. Accept dear man, as you indeed must , that every good son exceeds his father and every child eventually becomes his father's caretaker. Only when you acquiesce to me, then I can better tend to you."

"Between us two, wan of us may be deluded, but Ah know fer a fact its not me. Ye believe because of ye got a stole and a _promotion _that thangs have changed, that teh sins of yer past have gone away? Only teh coveren is different. Teh flesh is the same." Anderson's eyebrows knit together as he squinted at Maxwell in long perturbed concentration.

The young man stared back and tilted his head.

"Ye have all teh outsides and prattle of piety, but ye haven't teh foggiest notion of wat it meens dae ye? Yer domineeren and posturen nae impressive- only impressive in how off teh mark it is. All it leaves is a bad taste in teh mouth and shiver doon teh spine fer ye dunnae even seem tae know how false and fiendish ye are. Ye lie constantly, aisily, witoot second guessen or even knowen it and ye think aboot yer station, yer fancy dress, wine and roses but naethang of Our Lord and Savior. Teh only thang ye ever worshipped is yerself."

" AH-thats yer true creed, yer catechism, yer ten commandments! Any lie can be wrapped in silk and tinsel until naeone knows its stinken carcass, we both know that but a lie's a cripple- it can't stand fur long on its oon fer long. A leopard cannot change his spots - ye should stayed in teh dark, fer yer spots, hair by hair, will show themselves. Ah'm burned tae teh socket with yer crookedness . Soon everywan else shall see it too. If yer filthy, ye can't cleanse. If yer of teh darkness, ye cannot fight the darkness. Nae good can ever come of a bad seed."

"At the very least we have arrived at some consensus. We both accept each other as liars. I may have been a bad seed, but how was I meant to grow well when I was stamped into such rank soil, quenched with bile, smothered and plowed into dismemberment? Someone has set a precious thing before you and you charged and treaded on it like a mad bull, battered it with the abuse-" Maxwell huffed.

"Abuse? Ye weren't _abused _as a child, Lord knows ye should have been." Anderson bellowed. "Ye'd be far bettar off taeday if Ah administered a gude thrashen tae ye hourly! But did Ah battered yer fragile lit soul wit ma _harsh_words? Wat should Ah have done ? Should Ah have allowed ye tae commit sin under ma roof? Bolstered yer pride? Ah ken fur ma flock too much tae indulge them tae their ruin . Ah dunnae _pamper._Ah dunnae _spare. _Ma severity was tae save ye from Hell and build yer character, Ah was always kind , ma motives gude and charitable, ma conscience clear!"

"Perhaps that is what you remember? Given your perchant for drink,your memory may not be so clear. Who is to say what truly happened, except whoever holds the book?" Maxwell said softly. "History is rewritten, her glass veiled all the time to suit the caprices of the present, or the future."

Anderson jerked forward as if to seize the young man. " Why ye sick lit' shite."

Maxwell stepped away and shrugged in sleazy admission. "Sick you sow, sick you reap."

"Naethang is too sacred fer ye tae lie aboot."

"Nothing is too profane either. It does not matter if anyone believes half of what I say- nevertheless it behooves me to say it. If I wished to be Mother Theresa I would have been. Unfortunately, I cannot _stand_ mosquitoes." Maxwell smirked to himself.

" Most men have the intelligence of asses and they wish to be misled either by another or themselves. You are of the latter category. Your "abuse" as I say was not so simple or as crude as what you suppose. You had no need to beat us to the knees with a blunt instrument. You snatched at the substance of our heart', but gently, lest you break the skin. You emptied the mind and the soul of will without remorse, but if the child's stomach was empty, how yearned your tender bowels. Children they say are the riches of poor, and you dirty, mean and insidious in spirit kept us as a precious treasury of souls, your tokens of your apparent merit. You preferred to make a parade of us, so you may be seen in our midst so that others may say of you: what a kind godly man."

"Little did they know in truth that you were a blackguard aping charity so he could anesthetize his already minute shame and more effectively pursue his foul pleasures! You act as if your heart oozed sticky sweetness towards us, but we were a mere diversion, a pastime, treated like monkeys. It your carelessness and selfishness that made our home a spiritual raft of Medusa and your charges abject castaways defecating with woe and fear! One might think since we children were forced to live in this squalor together we might have been kind to each other- alas, we always a breath away from murder for one snot of your approval. Unfortunately Father could not adore all his little ones- and when one refused to crawl in a line like caterpillars with the other children, if he did not want to be Father's creature and was not made stupid by your poison, anathema was his name."

"Ungrateful brat. _A BOO __HOOHOO__! Ma childhood was rotten, __Ah'm__ misunderstood, everybody hates me that makes me a saint "_The priest screwed his fists into his eyes." Sorry tae be teh one tae break yer daily excursion intae self-pity, but naeone's interested. Dae wat ye want, but Ah've watched this unbearable melodrama befur! Ah'll give ye some advice: shut yer hole. Teh habits of a blubberen woman look terrible on a grown man."

" Bite your tongue drunkard."The bishop charged. "What would an organ grinder like you know about being a _man_? Am I not a man because I cannot take knives, chains and bullets to my face? It is because I'm not a steroid and whiskey fueled grotesquerie of insentient brawn, that I wear human flesh? Or is it I possess more than a brute's courage, that I am not a behemoth that must assert his _lowly_ manhood over a pack of unwitting orphans? If I am not man enough to your liking it is because in your presence, castration was always in the air. As I child, I had no choice but to daily endure your emasculating criticisms and the humiliating sight of your swaggering coarseness, swinging on your thick ape knuckles in your... smelly cassock-"

"Bull shite." Anderson nostrils flared in indignation. "Ma cassock smells lovely and ye know it. Am Ah supposed tae feel responsible that ye couldn't man up like me, sae ye'd decided tae be a trollopen obsequious fruit instead? All Ah see before me is sour grapes, how dae they taste? Real sour Ah bet. Ah know ye can taste it, ye have a big fucken mouth. That's all ye have. Ye call me a drunkard ? Ye bite yer oon tongue lest Ah'll tear yers oot and use it tae smack that vile smirk witoot a drop of blood of sincerity and kindness innit off yer face."

" Am I to understand that as a threat Anderson?" Maxwell said with analytic coolness.

"Wat if ye did. A man nevar died from a threat."

"Are you certain of that? Do you really think this clowning intimidates me?"

"Aye it should."Anderson said darkly.

"I tell you now: I do not care for these thuggish antics. I have sufficient violence within myself. I am capable of retaliating for any distress you may cause me. You strike my face, God will punish you." Maxwell pointed to the sky.

Maxwell tensed as Anderson seized him by his wrist and pulled him closer.

" God will punish me? He already has. Look and listen tae me, ye misery thristen fool." Anderson spoke with low croaking intensity, as if a sword was being stirred in his gut. "The gulf of Hell lies between us, Ah've crossed it long ago- but all yer daen but punishen yerself -"

"All I see lying between us is a torrent of your blood if you do not unhand me you damned oaf. If God chose my soul to be a scourge to wicked _fathers_." Maxwell cried. "so be it, for its own punishment or for yours!"

Maxwell jerked away only to be further contained by Anderson's grip, his arm held fast by the sweating leaden chain that was Anderson's arm.

"_Aye __teh__ sound of yer voice when its filled wit guilt and hate is like a hymn __tae__ me- everything ye say justifies me further! Ye think __tae__ befoul __yerself  
tae__ drag me __doon__ wit ye? __Thats__ like __drinkin__ poison __yerself__ and __hopen__ everyone else dies_." The priest whispered and panted nastily in Maxwell's ear _"well yer poison dunnae work on me ye wicked mischievous boy. In yer __dapest__ hart __ye'll furever__ be a abortion of __teh__ earth, a unwanted son of a whore, who was cast __oot__ like a cracked chamber pot tipped o'er on __teh__ pavement, __teh__ devil's __chil__d whose lusts of yer father ye will do-_

Maxwell's eyes twitched as his chest seemed to cave into an abscess, a block tumbling into the ocean. The rest of his face distorted and warbled like a broken reflection in tumultuous river. Like a ghoulish Jack in the box,the bishop launched himself forward and turned his neck, so their faces were millimeters apart.

"You DARE speak to me this way- filthy impudent SCUM- CALIBAN- ADDLED SCOUNDREL- you dare speak to me- you thought tonight' s event was a street corner? Ferdinand Luke was your idolatrous brothel temple- you were God of the nursery- and your harem of adoring idiot-children - worshiped you- prostrated themselves -to gratify your pride! For children are powerless, cursed with innocence, they cannot see your GUILE, like how flies swarm about rotten bones, they must feed off your fat stinking heart, they mistake your words for precious caresses that instead are the fists that fall and bash their brains! &-You are– like some contaminating poster to corrupt CHILDREN- You say I cannot judge you but I can know you by your fruit, the monsters you create, traitors, murderers, I know them by the SHAME you have written on their faces! You must be the devil himself! " Maxwell quaked, so hateful and horrified he was barely able to conjure up a coherent thought, let alone attack. His enormous eyes were rimmed with red as if brain was about to bleed and tiny filaments of saliva shot forward from the gaps of his pale gums and gritted teeth and splattered against Anderson's terse chin and mouth.

" Its God who calls the little wans fer their callens, not AH!" The priest ejaculated in infuriated bursts. "_**Ezekiel 34:16 Ah**__will search fur __teh__ lost and bring back __teh__ strays. Ah will bind up __teh__ injured and strengthen __teh__ weak, b__ut teh__ sleek and __teh__ strong Ah will destroy. Ah will shepherd the flock wit justice."_They were called in love; chosen in love, redeemed in love and they will be kept by love til they enter from ma hoose tae the hoose of teh lord!"

"Let go of me, GO I SAY OR I WILL BE SICK!"

"Yer SICK sae be sick-! BE sick ALL O'er yerself! YE think AH gave a FUCK-

They shouted in a frenzy of curses and insults over each other, into each other's outraged faces.

Suddenly the priest let go. Maxwell tore back, only to have something fly out of his sleeve and fall between them.


	3. Dance Me to the End of Love

Warning: There will be descriptions of gay sexual action in this chapter. Also dancing. If that kind of thing horrifies and offends you, run for your life. If not, welcome aboard! Thanks for getting through the last chapter!

In case you were curious (but you probably weren't), the previous chapters are named after Leonard Cohen songs. And thanks Uni for your encouragement! I so appreciate your appreciation and love your feedback! I try to portray the characters as best as I can. I hope you enjoy this chapter too, because I sure enjoyed writing it!

* * *

The object hit the floor silently.

"Look wat we hae here."

"Anderson-" Maxwell started.

Anderson bent over andsnatched up the mystery object from the ground, a small black silk packet.

"Wats in this? Pain killers? That would explain teh off thinken and teh blank pupils!"Anderson murmured, studying it under the moonlight. "Or maybe cocaine? Or is this wee thang where ye kape yer soul? "

"You have truly gone beyond the pale." Maxwell commanded, pulling his shoulders back. " Think of your little ones or at least your own throat before you speak or act further. I order you to give me that object this instant."

"Sae it is yers then!"

"Whose it is irrelevant. I am your master you understand. I exact from you what I like, when I like it."

"Ma master? "The paladin laughed ferociously as he tauntingly fingered and shook the packet. "Aye and Ah'm St. Francis of Assisi! Yer cheeky when yer spooked Maxwell. Why dunna ye quit yerself like a man fer once and confess yer shameful secrets of yer hart tae me. Tell me wats innit then Ah'll think aboot given it back."

"But I am not a man who quits!" Maxwell swung his hand towards Anderson's face and then stepped back.

Anderson froze, He not been struck but something was not right. The priest tapped his face with his fingertips experimentally.

"Where's ma-" Anderson started.

"So now I've gotten your attention." Maxwell dangled Anderson's glasses between two pinched fingers, then nimbly placed the glasses over his own eyes.

In a bizarre reversal, the bishop was bespectacled, and the priest was bare faced. There was now a deep reddish ridge at the crest of Anderson's nose where his glasses had rested.

"Isn't this unusual." Maxwell smiled heinously through Anderson's lenses. "I can see perfectly out of these, yet my vision is unimpaired!"

Anderson shaded his face with one outspread hand.

"I will answer your question if you answer mine. Why wear these ineffectual glasses? Is it that you think they make you appear more _approachable_? More humane? " Maxwell wet his lips. "And why can you look at me? Are you ashamed? Do you fear to see your image mingled with what you most abhor? Or is it your worry that they may look more handsome on me?"

"Give me ma glasses." Was all the priest said.

"Or you'll what." Maxwell wagged his tongue as he took off the glasses and hid them behind his back. "If its games you love, then play for stakes. Why don't you guess in what hand I hold your glasses in!"

"Why dunnae ye guess wat Ah'm gunna dae tae ye if ye dunnaegive 'em back?" Behind a web of splayed fingers Anderson stared with a liquefying wild, willful look of a starving huntsman, a mean impoverished face splintered through prison bars. "Ah'll give ye a hint. Have ye ever tried tae scream wit a bayonet in yer throat?"

"How absurd! You probably have dozen of pairs of these useless glasses waiting for you at the orphanage. I take this one away and you act as if I have snatched your very eyes from you."

"Its teh principle." Anderson grunted.

"The_ principle. _Take solace in your impeccable illogic. Circle your fingers around your eyes, it will have the same principle. Clearly you are beastly drunk and over excited. Go lie down."

"Ah lie doon? Fat chance. Its nae fun playen matatdor unless the bull fights, but when the bull gits a bit frisky, it becomes a matter of life and death fur fear of cutten a precious finger. But wat does it matter, we'll dae this again. We'll be daen this in another thirty years." Anderson said bitterly.

"Let us not be so pessimistic. In thirty years, one of us will be dead. Preferably you. After all, that is the Iscariot way: Wait and hope someone dies!" Maxwell hissed. "I hold that hope. I suppose you don't. Either outcome, you ensure I lose. If I relent, I am a coward but if I hold my ground, then I am a fool, yes?"

"Yer already a coward and a fool Maxwell. Yer teh biggest most hopeless coward and fool Ah've ever laid eyes on. "

"Oh am I? I understand the truth of courage and honor, all things like it. I say to hell with it! Dogs have died of it. The desire is preserve one's own life is no mark of cowardice or folly, it is a sign of intelligence, a sound mind. If a person is ready to slaughter over even something as inconsequential as a pair of spectacles, that does not make him brave, it makes him an imbecile, sick in the head. In the interest of wellness, I suggest we have a exchange Anderson!" Maxwell curled his hands toward himself like a beckoning merchant or a carousing gambler. "What is your's for whats mine, then we can go our separate ways and it will be as if this affair never occured. What say you?"

Anderson looked aside.

"Fetch." The paladin spat as he tossed the packet in the air.

Maxwell caught it in one hand.

"All yours. With my annointment." Maxwell crushed Anderson's spectacles in his fist and then spat a thick glob onto the crumpled remnants. He dumped the remains into Anderson's open palm.

"Son." Anderson sighed, as he gingerly straightened out the tangled mass and wiped them on his coat. The lenses popped out. Ignoring that, the priest fitted the bent empty frames back onto the bridge of his nose. "Ye shouldnae have done that."

"What did you expect? Tit for tat? With me there is only tat, there is no tit. I said I'd return them but I never said in what condition. They say there are no oaths in Hell."

"They also say that deid children dunna cause their fathers sufferen, dunna they?"

"You? Suffer? HA! If you suffer, it whats you deserve! Take solace that you will have dragged many hapless companions in suffering down to that replica of Lukes they surely have made in the Inferno!" Maxwell snickered.

"Ah'll show ye wat sufferen is, ye WRETCH." Anderson shrugged off his coat furiously.

" Oh dear! Your coat is coming off!" Maxwell cried sarcastically, waving his arms about. "I quake in fear! Are you going to smother me to death with your rank and wicked odor?"

"Nay Ah'm gonna tae beat teh liven shite oot of ye. Ye broke ma glasses , Ah'll break yer neck. Ah'll snap yer shriveled limbs intae kindling, Ah'll drain yer sinful blood wit yer whore muther spit innit ,Ah'll carve ye intae portions sae yer pieces will be served up fer yer father teh devil and scattered in every burnen circle!"

"Do you think dismembering me will make me repent my actions-! I shall make a face at you- as I fall dead to the floor! Yes you'd like to kill me, then go ahead and do it, you desperate thug, you stupid ape, you specious mound of waste. If you are as depraved as you claim, depravity demands daring! Won't I be just another drop in your over-flowing blood cup, another head to add to your tower of skulls-!" Maxwell cried as he attempted to dash past Anderson who had assumed a wide goalie's stance and mirrored his every step like children playing tag.

"Stop tryen tae run away ye maggot!" Anderson roared.

"Run away? Why should I, my mortal body has always been too feeble to hold my soul's genius and I give thanks to Jesus Christ that I won't be defiled by your company anymore! You are mistaken! I do not_ run_ away, I dance in the ecstasy of anticipation!" Maxwell shouted.

The bishop proceeded to dance.

Anderson stood and watched with his lips curled lopsidedly into a sneer of astonishment . A war was being ravaged on the priest's face between dismay, repulsion and incredulity, which concluded in baffled stalemate as Enrico stepped minutely with the tapping heels of his shoes, revolving in a glittering circuit around him like the posturings of a flamenco dancer, swerving and twisting his sinuous wrists, waist and shoulders like coils of smoke, his glossy hair fluttered behind him like a sleek familiar. The pace of his trot quickened with strong defiant stomps and swift swoops of his arms, until the flamboyant end, Maxwell finished with a flourished hop, one arm like a severe straight bar across his throat, the other raised high above his head as he snapped with castanets like fingers.

"Aye this must end." Anderson finally said.

"Yes. Let us lay this matter to rest, for all time!" Charged from his dance, Enrico slapped at his chest daringly and took long bold strides backwards." Strike hard for when your sword falls my punishment will end, and yours will begin!"

" Wit plazure. Any last words?"

" You son of a bitch!" Maxwell roared, waving an accusing finger. "I hope the dinner chokes you-!"

Anderson's eyes widened.

Maxwell's blood froze and screamed in his beating veins. The planet sunk away beneath him, as he felt his back tip over the edge of balcony's railing . His arms flapped back and forth like wings but finding nothing solid or tactile to grasp and failing to take flight, he fell backwards into black nothingness. It was too sudden to scream.

* * *

When Maxwell "came to" he had he been thrown into some garret? Was he dead? He did not know where he was when a force that took him fast.

The bishop was being pulled back over the balcony's railing like a fisherman might yank a wriggling hooked fish out of the sea. It was Anderson's fisted hands on his shirt, the only tethers keeping his body from being broken into pieces like an over ripened coconut.

Maxwell was pilant, like a near dead man pulled out a mangled wreck, and then suddenly frantic with relief, clambered and scratched up Anderson's arms like a panicking cat, flailing with limbs as gelatinous as a blubbering octopus. Anderson unable to contain Maxwell's thrashings began to sway back and forth like a tree in a tempest. They both collapsed in a heap on the balcony's floor like a noisy wreckage of dilapidated houses. Maxwell splattered out with outspread limbs on Anderson's groaning body, like a toad on a lily pad.

Maxwell had almost accidentally fallen off a balcony to his death only to have Anderson leap after him and snatch him. And now Anderson was prostrate beneath him, that man who had threatened to dismember him seconds earlier- ccontemplating this, Maxwell raised himself up on his elbows. His face flexed into cockeyed cross-eyed perplexity as some irrepressible force bubbled up within him. The young bit his lip bloodlessly white in an effort to suppress it, but whatever it was, it burst forth like the pop of champagne cork. Out of Enrico's mouth came fine spritz of saliva and with it a confused violent plume of laughter like at the bloom of a bird of paradise.

Anderson gazed up blankly. This proved to be Maxwell's undoing. Maxwell whooped with deep and helpless laughter. Watching Maxwell. Anderson's eyes filled and glistened with strange dark mirth. The rest of the priest's face crinkled and crumpled into a toothy ugly friendly smile, a drunk man's grin, as he emitted a gravelly laugh.

The sight of the other'slaughter spurred them to greater laughter. Soon they retched, gagged, wailed, bawled as they disentangled themselves. Anderson propped himself on one knee, honking as he staggered to his feet. Maxwell hooted as he reached and groped Anderson's elbow, using it as a lever to pull himself to his feet. They laughed from where they stood, knocking and colliding into the other's sides.

Maxwell realized he had never laughed so hard in his entire life, his throat was hoarse, his eyes burning slits, his mouth a melon-slice parabola in Grecian comedian 's mask, an ache spread through his abdomen like fire. Yet he could not stop, under some queasy disbelieving euphoria of having narrowly avoided death. Maybe he was drunk with his own survival, and perhaps Anderson was just drunk. But it was as if he and Anderson had killed each other and had become gods who could laugh at themselves on the other side, laugh at everything. They were safe in the knowledge that (at least for now)they were capable of surviving each other's hatred,so they could now succumb to the obscene unholy glee of having been so outrageously stupid and awful.

Gradually their laughter faded, and their smiles too. It was as if all the humor was sucked in and what was left was a terrifying, urgent but obscure vacuum, some terrible involved abstraction involving them with neither wished to contend. The two men stood close, close enough to smell one another, to taste one another's breath. The priest emanated a hot and heady musk of musty bookcases, skin-stripping lye soap, the rusty overworked smell of old machinery, of peppery whiskey breath, a horsey smell of mulch and sweat. Maxwell's scent was like a seamy tantalizing phantom subsisting of the blanketing death smell of cigarettes smoke and pungent reeking of polished shoe leather, the fumes of his nauseating yet irresistible cologne, the fretfully sweet soured wine breath on his lips. But there too was another odor in the air, a taste and tingly quality to it as well that was indefinable, barely papable but significant.

Anderson bolt-like eyes blazed eerily with hue of green traffic lights embedded by the crumbling mortar texture of his skin, like noxious suns in constellation of minute scars, pores, and stubble. The creases around his mouth and eyes deepened, his jaw clenched forward the scar on his jaw jagged into his cheek setting his features farther ajar like a picture frame tilted ever so slightly to the right. There was an appallingly determined, fixed, and yet impotent expression on his face, a rusted machine, a petrified titan, a mute ghost withholding a dire prophecy.

Maxwell attempted to keep his own flawlessly skinned face calm and unwavering, although he knew it was no of use. His face was mobile and mercurial in nature, quickly lapsing into thoughtfulness, anger, or pleasure. Currently his heart fluttered, his mouth squirmed and twisted, his forehead furrowed and his eyes sparkled with alarm and wonder. He could not imagine what his face looked like, as he felt discarnate, desolate, incomprehensible. His breast palpitated a giddy sinking painless daze like an onset of horrific accident, or of a highly anticipated consummation.

Maxwell's hand tightened on Anderson's forearm though he hadn't realized he been gripping it until he looked down.

Was that why Anderson was so quiet- because of this unbeknown contact? But what could be understood of such a person? Why had Anderson chosen to rescue him? Was it that militant gut- paternal instinct reacting? Was it that Anderson thought such an ending to their argument unacceptable (the spiritual man detests accidents)? Or was that that the priest loathed to lose another barrier kept him tethered to order or at least the appearance of order?

The balcony now seemed a plateau where only the two of them existed. An age passed since they laughed. The air rolled thick with portentous spirits and movement began to slur weightlessly, with an odd glowing resplendence as if they were submerged underwater. Like the inexplicable but absolutely compulsory motions of a dream actor and implement, Maxwell relaxed his grip and slithered his wry questing fingers up Anderson's thick arm. With an exquisite hesitation let his hovering hand land precariously on the hump of Anderson's shoulder like a lost dove come to perch.

Maxwell's eyes shot open as he remembered, remembered with catatonic hysterical clarity. No! The horrid atmosphere of the years between them had not dissipated. The past had seemed "shadowy" to him. The young man affected disgust about it, but regarded with no distinct acute feeling. The era had been mercifully hazed, its edges weakened with time like sea glass, a delirious and darkened legend inaccessible to his waking mind. Enrico had trained himself not to let these abominations roost in him. Do not think of it, he scolded himself: _Do not let yourself be haunted, you shall not live with these nightmares, go away, go away, _until that deep and pleasant sense of his success and the faith of his future was restored. Now it was shadowy no longer.

Childhood- that universe of pain! It was as if he had never been a child at all, but some squirming rodent chased to a corner and then stomped to a pulp. In images, like hideous stations of the cross, It had began with his obscure and odious repudiating father and his invisible ill-reputed mother's fornication. The abandonment, then the terrified incomprehension, then the devastating comprehension : _I have no mother or father, I am alone, entirely abandoned, they left me. They need not have done so and now they're gone forever_

Why had he been called a devil's child? He had been no less diabolical then the other children around him!The other orphans found in him common prey and had railed together to cause him torment, wreck his life's happiness, threaten his sanity. Years subjected to suffocating loneliness andbruising bullying without the dignity of privacy or solitude within the infernal walls of Ferdinand Lukes, each room like a cell of Hell,. And Anderson that alien and over-familiar presence, setting him apart from the other boys with those searing eyes, seeing him differently, like some circling adversary, constantly berating and belittling him. _If I am the devil's child, I will live then from the devil _Maxwell had thought. Knowing had he would only be reviled , Maxwell had hid his heart and better qualities deep away until they became scant, non-existent So absorbed he had been in this demonic play acting, it became impossible to tell the truth, to be simply himself. He had been driven mad with pain.

In the present day, Maxwell would sit at his massive desk, consumed with slow secretive hatred of the other men aroundhim, currents of shuddering heavily loathing oozing through him like pus through a wound, his cup runneth over with bile, his blood turned dark with anger and his eyes boiled with unshedable tears. He would examine the maladies, sins, errors of other men with icy simmering satisfied disdain as a surgeon might examine a removed pickled tumor in a jar, organizing then, ranking them, and then dealing out signatures like the killing blow with his slim onyx black pen in large threshing script. It by this way that Maxwell could destroy many more men than Anderson ever could. Clichéd as it was, the pen was mightier than the sword. Therefore he was mightier than Anderson, but this fact caused him no joy. Regardless of what he did, Anderson was unassailable, like trying to break a brick wall with bare fists. The more he struggled, the more Anderson was invincibly fantastically convinced of things as he saw it. There would never be any recognition of harms done, no remorse, no reciprocity. Furthermore, no matter how men Maxwell destroyed, it could not give him what he wanted. There was so much he wanted- and so little hope...

Dizzy with these epiphanies, Enrico moaned to himself as his legs buckled, as if he were being ground down by a enormous screw of unhappiness, being sawed off at the knees little by little by a hot lance. Anderson began to tilt forward, like an gigantic tree might begin to crash to the ground that had begun to dot with glowing rune like patterns.

It was then Anderson's hand gripped Maxwell's waist and redirected the floor to its proper place, like a buoy adjusting itself .Anderson engulfed him in a wolfish hug. The priest's dull creased grey boots bashed and dragged Enrico's glossy pointed black heels backward. They staggered a few raucous steps back together, a barbaric waltz, the last stumblings of a blind demented four legged beast. The priest slammed him against the wall.

Holding him there, Anderson crammed their heads together like two head butting rams and pressed their figures contour to contour, like shards meeting. From this came terrific stormy churning sensation in Maxwell's stomach, whirling streamers and wailing horns like an effusive disaster, Maxwell's blood coursed through him spiked with honey and stings, the air was electric and sultry, and his arousal was sudden, awful and total. Their bodies met like an alchemical equation, two substances creating forth desire.

In the panting silence, Anderson fondled the back of Maxwell's head with a wide hand. Rivulets of silver hair poured through the priests fingers as Maxwell's ponytail came undone. The rest of the young man came undone with it. Enrico's arms wilted down to his sides hanging listlessly like dead vines, his core slackened molten into Anderson's stalwart body seemed to be the only proper place to house his lusts, failures, pains.

We so often seek the ones who sinned against us most to save us, to amend the cruelties themselves inflicted, also hoping they will continue to cause us more pain as if their actions might be revealed to us as another guise of love. More pain can murder pain, on the crux of torture. This defeated surrendering exhaustion Maxwell felt, seemed to be an advent of another growth of power, an orange peeled back with deliberation to reveal its moist delectable flesh, the dry earth cracking to reveal a profusion of rich black wet oil.

With ease, the two men's lips met and seceded in rolling scroll-like swells, withdrawing to breathe then returning to touch.

They kissed.

Like Jesus multiplying the loaves and fishes, one kiss multiplied into a fluent dialogue of many, but rather than ameliorating their hunger, it made it sharper, greater. Fuelled with terrible excitement, Maxwell besieged the hot dry skin of Anderson's jawline with licks and kisses. Anderson kissed him ravenously in turn, up his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, on his trembling eyelids, his forehead, like a father lion tormented whether to wash his cub clean, kiss it, kill it, bite it, like sallow cannibals in black Goya painting, two wounded creatures' frantic soothings one another.

Anderson's tongue caught Enrico's serpentine tongue, and their tongues fenced back and forth into each other's mouths. Anderson opened his mouth wider andtook both sides of Maxwell's slender face so Maxwell could plunge tongue farther in to impale the entrance of his throat. It was if Anderson to gorge himself, have his tongue deep enough to lick his heart. Maxwell's jaw throbbed as he dribbled uncontrollably, Anderson's mouth ,stubbled, chin was soon slick and glistening with the other man's saliva.

While kissing, the older man grabbed hold Maxwell's buckle, unzipped his pants, and shoved a hand down, reached him, maddeningly erect to encircle him fully in a fist and worked his hand furiously. Maxwell gnashed against Anderson's cheek, his face slid down to rest, scalding against Anderson's racing heart to prevent his stuttering moans and whimpers.

Anderson then shoved him back against the wall, and dropped down to his knees.

The young man gasped hoarsely and caved in as if he had been dealt a devastating blow to his core as Anderson aggressively seized him by the hips and began to suck him.

Maxwell ran his hands through the priest's hair, his ears, up and down Anderson's neck as if he tried to gain some traction for the overwhelming sensations that assailed him, the riotously wet hot intensity of his inner mouth and throat, the divinely rough texture of his tongue, the texture of the man's thick hirsute lips pulling around his cock. He shuddered and sighed deeply as he watched Anderson's majestically ugly head bobbing up and down between his pale thighs,a grotesquely carnal and a horrendously gorgeous sight . Nor was this like some quick transaction with some stranger of the street, it was not homely or forgettable or despicably amusing . It was real, real, real.

Anderson pulled away. Drawing his hand back, the priest spat on his gloved fingers. Before Maxwell could understand and protest, Anderson had spread his legs apart and was prying and wriggling a finger up his ass, working it farther in and in. Then another.

"UH!" Enrico gawked and spasmed as he shook uncontrollably in a black-out of atrociously delicious pressure that pushed against the very peak of his head. Just a series of tiny ministrations from another man's fingers in such an intimate embarrassing place... how could it cause sucha catastrophe of pleasure, like pain that leaves one without embarrassment or thought? It was as if it was not even experienced through the senses as if he had become pleasure itself, like when a worshipper forgets himself and becomes the substance of God.

When Anderson sucked him at the same time as his fingers writhed in and out, Maxwell yowled and moaned through his teeth. The bishop bucked, he chewed, slobbered into his sleeve to bring himself through unendurable pleasure induced vertigo. It felt so sublime, he feared that his heart and brain might burst, that he might go blind. With shockingly skillful hands and use of his mouth, Anderson would pull back and cease, just allowing Maxwell from teetering over the excruciatingly exquisite cusp, gulp at air, regain a germ of consciousness, then he would begin again. And again. And again.

The timing grew longer and maddeningly apart to protract the ordeal. Maxwell sobbed silently, his flushed face contorted with anguished rapt ectasy like a swooning decadently suffering figure in a Renaissance painting. Tears flowed freely. It was too much, too much. He could support this no longer. It was if he was being drowned or burned, losing consciousness. His limbs were chained and being pulled apart, he was dying delirious prisoner revived by his captors, only to be further tortured. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he had died and Anderson was a punishment for his sins and this was heaven, Lucifer stumbling in upon Eden.

Simultaneously Maxwell looked down and Anderson looked up. They met eye to eye. Between the distance of their joint concentrated stare dwelled solemn reverberations like how a organ's echoes rumble through a cathedral, the encroachment of a grand crescendo. Anderson's green eyes stared from within those silver wire circles like a radiant stained glass in which a scathing morning light pierced and scattered through that moved one with awe and dread and yearning. The darkness around them was God's cupping His hands around the pair to ensure this moment be only between the three of them. the moon superbly complementary to the darkness. The stars suspended in their peaceful self-possessed repose like a crowd of witnessing angels. Poetry invaded Maxwell's dazed mind, that once there was Dante following his emerald eyed love Beatrice to heaven to behold-"," L'Amore che move il sole e l'altre stelle ", the love that moves the sun and other stars."

"ah…. ahhhhhhhh…!" Maxwell called uncontrollably, his eyes and head began to loll back, his body arched up as he yielded, he was moved by the grand, unceasing, splendid movement of all. Through them both pierced a hallowed trembling cry . "_ooooooooooooooahhhhhhhhh-"_

It did not sound like it came from him. It was an eloquent ecstatic exclamation of a dying saint ascending, the burning pyre turning into a throne of clouds, the ravening flames on his skin becoming the flapping of velvety cherub wings, the din and curses of the crowd made pale out by the beckoning harmonies of angelic choir.

The earth tilted and cracked open, unbound to its' axis. Maxwell's limbs and center glowed and condensed to the black hole, then exploded, disintegrated into sizzling atoms of searing rapture as if he were struck by lightning from within.

All semblances of thought and memories were swept back like flimsy gauze to reveal a void. Flooding that void was a galaxy of light and a Noah-like destroying cascade of perfect bliss. The whole of time spun and whirled into white infinity, history was torn to shreds like a false document with the jubilant angry angels. He flew over the depths of the darkness and primordial waters, walked in the groves of Eden, ran through the parted sea, squeezed through the needle's eye, danced wildly with King David in the streets of Jerusalem, was crowned and crucified, spanned the entire circumference of existence , then became the circumference, he was at every instant everywhere eternally man, land and beasts spheres and worlds all made as a single hair or a grain of sand or breath was always so and never lost, at the first morning of creation to the terrible wonderful final day. It was if he had entered into and inhabited the laughter of the holy ghost.

* * *

Maxwell cracked open his heavy eyes. He half lay on the ground, his back slightly propped against the wall, and his half-naked legs spread out like broken stilts in front of him.

Anderson had disappeared. He was alone.

And drenched. Drops of sweat ran down Maxwell's neck, one pursuing the other. The young man's entire body trembled and radiated with sensation, several times he jolted and twitched. He fell forward to rest on his hands and knees like a lashed servant. Drool trickled from his mouth as he gasped like a fish. He felt as if he had adrift at sea for eons, mangled like flotsam in the tide and washed ashore.

The bishop managed to rise on one knee, feeling his way up the wall. His entire bottom half was pulverized numb and each small movement made his groin throb. It was if steam were rising from the juncture of his crotch, from every pore, from his lips where Anderson had touched. He zipped his pants up delicately, and laboriously, holding his side like a person shot, stumbled inside, bumping through the veins of darkened hallways, until he swung open his door and fell in to the entrance of his office, both arms outspread and head bowed, like a man crucified as his hands grabbed the doorway to support himself. He looked up, eyes were sunken and enormous, like a fugitive caught under inescapable spot light, the emperor suddenly stabbed in the bath, the husband who discovers his wife making love to his dearest friend in their conjugal bed.

The room was bright, crowded with his constituents with callac lily shaped flukes of champagne in their hands. They stood in arrangements of twos threes and fours like a crowd of pretty and malevolent flamingos. In the midst of this gathering, he saw Renaldo standing there, banal, melancholic, unassuming as an old terrier. How, he thought, how could he forget that they would all be waiting for him for an "impromptu" post-event celebration?

There was stifling deadening silence among the cool and curious stares. No, he would not permit them the satisfaction of seeing him uncouth or abashed.

Maxwell straightened up and adjusted his collar with a swift jerk. He cleared his throat and assumed an disdainful appraising look that he had mastered years ago, and stared back, watching those before him shrink into postures of deference, like cowed currs.

"_A spectacular evening... Heaven has special care of us all... that he brings his noble friends and kinsmen together, to task their love and to grace his happiness. Honor him, for I am him! Where are the smiles on your faces?"_ Maxwell announced. He barely heard his own words, as if they were uttered by someone else and muffled through a stuffy tunnel. "_My applause_?"

And like that, the room burst into applause, and Maxwell entered.

* * *

"Since my last confession I have committed this mortal sin." Enrico Maxwell finished his story , white and expressionless as porcelain.

You were speechless, startled. This was not what I was expecting you thought dumbly.

"And you haven't-" You whispered. "Committed this sin before?"

"I have with other men."

"How many times."

There was the sound of a resentful ashamed swallow.

"I have lost count"

"Then you must- cease all this behavior at once ... and you must avoid that priest you spoke of, as he tempts you to hatred or worse."You croaked. "Can you do this?"

Maxwell only shook his head.

"Don't you understand... the wrong you've done child?" You stammered. "I do not wish to refuse you absolution but God cannot forgive an uncontrite sinner-"

"I cannot promise not to offend Him. I know I shall fail, but I ask God's pardon all the same."

"But you cannot ask for God's pardon that way-"

"One can desire the end without desiring the means can't they?" Enrico said quietly.

"God tells us we should forgive our brother 77 times 7 times- " You urged . "Better to sin 77 times and repent, than sin once unrepentantly. To be in a state of grace, you must repent sincerely. "

"Yes and so I can go away and sin again, come back and confess to FOOLS like you!" The bishop hissed loudly, dragging his fingers into his scalp. "Yes. There is no other way. We are Catholics are damned by our surety!"

Before you could answer, the man stepped out and slammed the door so hard it made the booth shake.

And that was how it all began.


	4. If It Be Your Will

It has been over a year, but I finally updated! I want to thank you DreamingofDissent and shuramiyaki for your kind and insightful reviews, it means so much when readers take the time and energy to tell an author how much they enjoy their work, it makes it all worthwhile! So yes, here's your annual decadence for you...

* * *

Shortly after Maxwell's soiree, another man came to confess.

You had seen him before but took no note of him, as he soundlessly circulating through the Vatican like a wandering cloud, a half hearted angel of mercy, an officious ghost. Even without obscuring grill between you, he had seemed anonymous, a vague subsidiary, a mellow sideman, one of the millions of men who had contributed his small part and then receded back into the fugue of history.

His melancholic north sea grey eyes, dimmed with slithery cataracts and silvery spectacles peered warily through the confessional screen, then cast themselves at the shaded floor. On closer inspection, you decided he was quite handsome- for his age. On top of his head was a thick snowy hoary crown of hair , like the picturesque patch of fungi, and an impeccably maintained moustache of the same shade and disposition above his calm crinkled lips, situated between the gentle sloping jowls of his cheeks. With his arms rigid by his side and his polished pale vestments raveling on him, he resembled a peeling white birch, or a well folded napkin. There was somewhere some lines of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock wholly appropriate for such a man: "An attendant lord, one that will do, to swell a progress, start a scene of two, advise the prince, no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, politic , cautious and meticulous…"

But as you soon found out, appearances can be deceiving.

Father Renaldo began his tale, from start to finish in his low porous voice:

* * *

The sky was a solemn palette of leaden never ending white, very white, the sun looked like a dish of clotted cream. If you rose into it, you may skid across it the unblemished waste coast of a frozen sea or oafishly bump your head against it like a plaster ceiling. To God the sky was an egg shell that He might arbitrarily decide to crack, and permit the smothering eternal darkness of the universe to overwhelm His creation. Beneath the sky were all men in their struggling raging history lay condensed, they came from the dust and came back to the dust.

This day, the grounds of Ferdinand Lukes resembled some moor, grey and green with its surrounding grassy field and humps of moss like sedentary beasts and its peppery granite stone courtyard. Behind it was a ruined shed, pungent with the smell of rot and sod and dew. The quaint looking school was to the side, an adjunct to the somber looking cube of an orphanage, the town church at a sensible distance down the road. In front of the rusting gate, was an life size imitation of the Pieta, a recent gift from the mayor, decorated with opaque dribbles of bird excrement.

Within the gates, the grassy ground cried softly as it was trampled and pounded down under the scuffed black shoes of the orphans there. They scurried in a lemming like circle, their mouths warbling with bloodcurdling bird wails, screams that would resonate for miles and pester and startle the less patient and hardy neighbors.

There was a blustery brackish base voice to the earsplitting sounds, the shouts of a grown man standing in the center of the children's orbit, waving his arms about, compelling them in their hazardous flight, like small asteroids hurling themselves around the Prime Mover.

The roars became more and more coherent as Renaldo neared and surveyed the scene from the yieldingly comfortable back seat of his car.

"Ah'm teh heathen monster- Ah've come tae eat and convert ye wee Christian soldiers!" The man roared, like the crashing of water released from a massive concrete dam. Prowling and lurching and lumbering, the man made a truly monstrous impression with its sepia rubble textured skinand its coarse sable hair like a stack of rotting grain, its stark limbs like jagged pikes. Renaldo then inferred, the Christian soldiers were supposed to be the orphans but they were not particularly apt at soldiering , as they were more quailing from the monster, then battling it.

"Raghhh! This wan looks tasty!" The monster dove and scooped a chubby boy up and whirled him around over his head in a airborne circuit. The chubby child kicked and flailed with hysterical terrified laughter before he was set back down. "Not enough meat-" The monster complained. Squealing with his good fortune, the boy scrambled back to his fellows.

The monster then stomped away, and contrived to conceal himself, squatting down behind some bedraggled foliage. The hulking eclipse of his back was clearly visible from the side of the shabby shrub. "Whew. Ah'm behind this bushel ere, safe from those wee God fearin' warriors! They'll never ever find meh. Ah'll might as well drift intae mah Godless sleep now!" It snored with outrageous loudness.

Not to anyone's surprise, the slumbering beast was quickly found and apprehended . The children overwhelmed it by their sheer numbers, like how the tiny island people had brought down Guliver.

"ARGH! How can it beh? There's nae rest fur the wicked!" The monster lamented with woeful theatrical tosses of its head as it was towed by its arms to the center of the yard.

As if to echo its dismay, it began to drizzle.

"We're taking you as prisoner heathen monster !" One small pigtailed warrior wailed on one arm.

"No he's OUR prisoner!" A bowl haircut child of indistinct gender screeched on the other.

A ferocious game of tug of war commenced between two lots of children over their prize, they pulled the monster's arms in opposing directions , seesawing back and forth as one team momentarily overpowered the other.

" Little wans, Ah can't be split in half!" Anderson cried and broke character. He yanked his arms back to himself in a swift jolt, causing the line of children to stumble forward with a collective yelp.

"Attention!" He barked.

The orphans immediately dashed into one another, a blizzard of confetti, a crisscrossing of a school of fish, until they arrived at some semblance of an formation. They puffed up their small chests, peering forward with pasty eager little faces, plump moist fists by their sides, as if they had been indoctrinated into Alexander Anderson's compulsory children's army.

Anderson placed his broad hands on his strapping hips. "Christian soldiers dunnae fight wit each other- who dae they fight?"

"HEATHENS AND MONSTERS!" The children howled in unison.

"-sters!" One child finished the answer second later then the others, then clamped a hand over his mouth, cheeks ablaze amid the disapproving glares of his peers.

"And what else dae they dae?" Anderson shouted down at them. His chomping canines beamed with the white vivacity of the sun.

"LOVE GOD AND THEIR NEIGHRBORS!" They brayed.

"That's rite mah wee disciples! There's nae need tae fight. Ye'll can all share meh as prisoner..." Anderson stooped to grin ruggedly at the throng "or ye can strike meh doon in the name of God."

Instantly, the pack leapt on him with savage glee and dragged and smashed him down into the wiry blades of grass.

"What dae weh say?" Anderson laid on his stomach, cackling, glasses askew, fingers dug into the dirt, inundated with children like an enormous overturned apple core with ants swarming all over it, like a she-wolf overwrought with Remuses and Romuluses pawing to nurse.

"AMENNNNN!" The children bawled.

This cry of exultation was intruded by a sky melting splinter of lighting closely followed by a bleak rumbling afterthought of thunder . It started to pour rain like the vindictive piss of angels.

The children screamed in alarm and Anderson swooped his arm thither, railing them, cajoling and guiding them inside, as he did, he attempted to cover their small heads with his expansive coat.

Renaldo waited in the car until they had gone inside. Always prepared, he had carried his black umbrella with him.

He ventured into the orphanage through the back entrance and shook the umbrella off of its droplets with an grimace of distaste. He took the familiar and yet somewhat unfamiliar surroundings, drifting his slow, silent, unassuming path, like the fluttering of a piece of paper, through catacomb like hallways to Anderson's office. He found it and tapped the slightly ajar door open with his fingertips and looked in.

Anderson was still, bent over his desk. For a moment it looked like the priest had assumed the dead incognizance of all the objects surrounding him, and the objects had assumed his lively foreboding moody austerity. Anderson's office reminded him of some primordial lair, it was blotted with shadows, cavernous and overflowing with the scavenging and sediment of time, dust covered books and stacks of papers some probably dating back from ten years ago or earlier. There was probably not one thing strewn about that if removed that Anderson would miss , or even notice was gone.

"Good morning Alexander." Renaldo stood in the doorway and gestured out with a courteous swaying arm. "I do hope I am not interrupting."

Anderson glanced over his shoulder with shrewd devouring eyes, his lips a harassed pink-grey squiggle, as if Renaldo was a frigid gust intruding into snug haven.

"O course ye aren't. Come in sir." Anderson ascended and snatched his desk chair, its varnish chipped and discolored with age, and clunked it down in front of a nearby ungainly coffee table.

Renaldo understood: the cue for him to come in, to sit down. Renaldo had grown used to watching Anderson, and by doing so, grasped some of Anderson's mannerisms, idiosyncrasies and preferences. The habit of observation had once been out of necessity as years back, they had cohabitated. They had been partners at Lukes: Renaldo had been the bureaucratic back-worker, preparing all the paperwork, keeping the books, and balancing the budget. Anderson had been more "hands on" and public man, the main guardian and caretaker of the children, the handy man , the heart and soul of the place.

Secure in their roles, they took to each other with the tacit pragmatic appreciation of an arranged marriage. Simple memories were the ones that lingered with Renaldo the clearest- the pervasive smell of dust, disinfectant and burnt fish on Friday, the way the sun had hit his face like an irritant when he would wake in his Spartan bedroom, how he and Anderson would over tea idly chatted about topics of no particular importance, the nuns, the children, their plans for the upcoming year. He had even addressed him as 'Alexander' and the man hadn't objected. As they passed in the hallways, they would tersely raise a hand of greeting or quickly clasped each other's shoulders- supplemented with the fleeting smile. It was possible ,Renaldo considered, that he had been the closest thing that Anderson had ever had to a friend, or at least a companion in solitude.

Yet when Renaldo switched allegiances to Maxwell, Anderson had never gotten another man to replace him, supposedly taking on those onerous and tedious duties upon himself. Renaldo inwardly tsked, as he would never would have allowed the disorder that laid before him.

They sat across from each other withholding their own thoughts from each other like two poker players might withhold their hand of cards. The strident sounds of running and shrieking interrupted their brief silence.

Anderson leapt across the room with long strides and creaked opened the door just enough to poke his shaggy soldierly head out.

The running abruptly halted, rubber soles squeaking, skidding, streaking small temporary grey scars against the lino floor.

"Children, Children. how many times hae Ah _tole_ ye nae tae run in teh hall way." The priest clucked with a gentle chiming cadence that made him sound like a sweet wistful granny, then a stout and disapproving enforcer of God's law . "Wat dae we say?"

"Sorry Father." The small chorus twittered back. Their apology shimmered with anxious giggles, like the tinkering sparkling ornaments of a swaying chandler .

Renaldo could not see Anderson's expression from the back of his head- his hair dampened by the rain looked sleekly unkempt, its color transmuted from sandstone to gunmetal- but he could imagine the priest's face well enough as he seen it many times in these exchanges- that fond sternness, the facetious scrutinizing for sincerity, that fatherly irritation tempered with kindly exasperation, like an illustration of a big funny bear in a child's book. He could not see the children's faces but he could see in his mind's eye, their trembling little lips, their wringing supplicating hands, their beady eyes gleaming with mirthful trepidation.

"Gae on then." Anderson 's voice was even softer still, glowing around its edges with an indulgent smile and a winking twinkle in his eye . "Dunnae let me catch ye lot daen it again."

The paladin gingerly closed the door.

The sounds of the children's slow careful footsteps degenerated into running again at the end of the hallway.

Anderson laughed softly and went to a near by curio cupboard. He procured and poured two glasses of whiskey with an astute air of a pharmacist measuring out precise portions.

"Fer ye sir. Wet yer lips." He offered the glass to Renaldo.

"Thank you but my doctor says I shouldn't." Renaldo refused with a nod and a sedate tremor of his hand. His doctor had said no such thing. Renaldo did not like to drink or smoke.

"Huh. Wat gude doctor wuilld say tell a man tae stop drinken?" Anderson mused to no one in particular. "A man shuild beh able tae drink as he plazes, provided he can hold it.

The big man slumped down with resignation and applied the tumbler of whiskey to his lips. At close quarters, a heady whiff of alcohol crept like a evil night influence into the sober light and air , and caused Renaldo to queasily glance aside.

It was ten in the morning.

"Ah saw ye watchen frum yer car sir. Ye shuild o joined in." Anderson slurped his single malt. "Ah cuild always used another heathen monster."

"It is not becoming for a man of my age to partake in such activates." Renaldo muttered, his lower lip drooped dourly below his walrus bristles.

Renaldo had always taken proper preemptive measures against the budding of a unbecoming intimacy- or much intimacy of all, that would have been a hindrance towards his contemplative communion with God. He did only what was completely necessary for the children and nothing more.

That and it was not in his nature. Where deep abiding affection, a cozening tenderness lay in other men, in Renaldo resided a half-hearted tolerance and begrudged patience, a guilt flavored sense of duty. Renaldo had never envied men with families- he had never even envied men with many friends. Ever since he was young, Renaldo had known that his soul was not meant for continuous proximity with others, his solitude was the sole source of peace and renewal. The biological imperative to breed had never disturbed him , and from his cold and distant eye, it seemed extremely ill-advised .He wondered, why would anyone want to subject someone unwittingly to this world , except out of obtuse selfishness or an base instinct?

Furthermore, Renaldo had an aversion to dirt and noise, he did not like blunt, boisterous and lively behavior and energetic saccharine optimism ruffled him- with an object too sweet his first inclination was to spit it out . He was "stiff", "chilly", "boring" and "unpleasant" or so some thought.

Even worse, Renaldo's piddling paternally inadequacy was made an even starker disparity next to Anderson's effortless fatherly talents ,heart, strength and clarity. During his years at Lukes, Renaldo had felt like an mediocre artist, vexed by seeing his contrived inert artwork next to another's inspired and inextinguishably brilliant piece , or maybe how a plain, unmemorable and charm-less woman might achingly and ruefully comprehend her inferiority in front of a woman who was glamorous, lovely and charismatic. If the two of them were set before any child, the child would immediately, with predictability of Newton's falling apple, run to Anderson. When Anderson left Luke's for extended periods for his various missions, the children would make a point to watch him leave at the gate, clinging to its rivets, sighing mournfully, some sniveling weeping, like newly wed wives biding their soldier-husbands farewell. When Anderson returned, it was a orgy of ecstatic-madness , the children skipped to him, cheering, gabbling and clinging to his legs, and kissing him frantically, like hosanna, hosanna, the Lord Jesus had returned. Whether Renaldo had come or gone was scarcely noticed. He might as well be transparent he thought irritably. But was better that the children favored Anderson, Renaldo assured himself, for their love meant more to the younger man, Anderson had little else.

" Hehheheheh. Boot Ah'm jes a year younger then ye. Yer not gaen tae spoil mah fun are ye sir?" Anderson laughed with brusque cheer.

Renaldo made no comment in either word or expression. He did not want Anderson to think he coveted his unnatural youth, his wild energy, his careless charm. Anderson continued.

"Lambs learn best by example, by stories, by song and games, they imitate things, they remember pictures, they like tae use their imaginations. Ye think _hunt teh heathen _is jes ae wee amusement?" Anderson said, crafty, earthy, and primitively handsome as any ruddy chieftain, as he poked his temple with a demonstrative finger. "Its sowen teh seeds brother. This game teaches 'em teh proper hate o heathens!"

"Perhaps" Renaldo cleared his throat rigidly. "not in the most… subtle of ways."

" Subtle? Children dunnae learn by maken things _subtle_." Anderson scoffed and charged on in his hearty rollicking brogue, that was fortified and blazing with alcohol . "Their natures are in want of strong and simple guidance. Ah aim tae teech an iron belief and love o Jesus Christ, an teh anchor that will holds 'em fast in this world. Nae child wants subtlety, coldness and drudgery, boot every child wants warmth, tae play, tae come opp and sit on their father's knee. Christ Himself invited children tae come close tae Him. Wit kindness and a smile, ye'll always git on. By getten 'em close, Ah wark upon their hearts. As a man of God, ye have tae git children any way ye can, as children have a openness of mind, a simpleness of faith that nae grown man can have, even when if he tries his damnest. Its said tha men must become like little children befur they're fit fur teh kingdom of heaven, sae tae the weak became Ah as weak, that Ah might gain the weak; tae save lambs, Ah'm a lamb maself... fer fools and wee wans need saven jes as much as rest of us, and many of them cannot be saved except by means which clevar men frown upon."

Renaldo frowned.

Anderson nodded philosophically. "If mah charges dunna receive teh gude news now, they'll nevar be ready. Sae Ah secure their trust, Ah give' em somethang worth comen tae, sae they come tae me. Ah spake something warth listenen tae sae they listen, and they love meh. That's teh secret: if they _love_ ye, children will learn anythang frum ye."

Renaldo sniffed.

Anderson's eyes glistened as he clasped a hand over his breast as if he were already perceiving a prophetic glory transpiring before him. "And o course, Ah love mah children rite back. They're mah pride and joy, mah trophies won for Our Lord and Savior. Under mah hand, there wait's a warrior waven oor banner, a future pope, a saint even! In every game of heathen monster, teh ages look tae me…"

Glowing from his own spiel, Anderson asked with a broad Celtic smile. "Now, tae wat dae Ah owe the plazure o this visit?"

Renaldo bowed his head with ceremonious humility, like the self-consciously pious man does in the pews. "Our eminence sends his best regards to the children."

Anderson's smile immediately dropped like a stone. His deep set eyes shifted to his lap, his mouth sealed and forehead rutted, as if he were conferring with himself, and then he picked up his glass and jarringly catapulted the remainder of his whiskey down his gullet as if to drink in brooding concession to his inward judgment.

"His best is it?" Anderson swallowed bitterly. "God hep us then."

"I was requested to personally deliver this message to you on his behalf ." Ignoring that statement, Renaldo fingered his briefcase and pried its jaws open.

There was nothing inside it but a large self-important envelope, made more self important by the red silken backdrop of the case. The envelope was cream colored with a linen texture, a embossed golden border with Maxwell's gory blot of a seal held the top and bottom lips closed.

Anderson's face flexed in all different directions, absurdly startled, bloodless, as he heard some bizarre disturbing insult, or was being confronted with some obscene portrait.

Renaldo's thick grew brows lowered with an sagacious frown. "You will not look at it Alexander?"

Anderson's outraged expression did not change.

"Then I shall." Renaldo opened the envelope, and laid the papers out. With his fingers tenting over them he adopted a smooth persuasive tone. "These are the forms indicating that with your consent, the orphanage's trust shall receive an annual donation."

Anderson's lips curled and twitched. "Ah wasnae informed o this."

"I do apologize for its suddenness. You are being informed now." Renaldo spoke with clerical aridness, then motioned to the paper with a slab like hand. " thus these documents. Do you have any questions?"

"Ah haven't any."

"Then please read and sign these." Renaldo offered an substantial ebony pen, warmed from his pocket.

"Nae sir. " Anderson grunted.

"Pardon?"

"Ye heard meh. Take it wit ye." Anderson jerked his head curtly, his eyes alit with a restless urgency. "Ah dunnae want tha in mah hoose ." He gestured to the papers with a 'begone' flick of his fingers, as if it were a wicked apparition that he could make it vanish away with the right ministrations.

"Hm." Renaldo murmured and scratched his nose. "Our eminence's assumption was that you would agree. "

"Assume as ye plaze." Anderson mumbled growlingly like the warning of a badgered animal. "Boot Ah dunnae give a damn aboot any of yer assumptions."

"Our Eminence does not make these offers often, nor flippantly" Renaldo's face assumed its calm judicious mask and pushed the papers towards Anderson with a listlessly insistent finger. "He knows the welfare of your children are your top priority. If I may speak frankly, I strongly suggest you look over it before making any decision."

The chair groaned as Anderson leaned forward and slid the envelope vehemently back towards the other man with two fingers, sneering as if he were overcoming a yawning chasm of disgust just to touch it.

"If Maxwell knew me, he'd know Ah'd nevar be sae rash tae accept _favors _frum him, or sign any o his Faustian documents." The paladin rasped.

"I see your concerns. Regardless" Renaldo remained poised. "I am determined to carry out Our Eminence instructions, which was to obtain your signature. "

"O, sae he's not forgen it as usual? And fer the luv of God, wuild ye stop wit teh "Oor Eminence bit?" Anderson snapped, "We've both known Maxwell since he was a lad in short pants."

"But that was some time ago…." Renaldo said dully as he feebly opened his hands.

" Aye, he's nae longer in short pants, boot as fer a lad- sum thangs ne'er change!" Anderson muttered contemptuously. "Wan thang fer certain we're nae longer young men are we? Isnae it a bit sad tha at yer a man servant at yer age, and tha Maxwell has ye playen teh messenger boy tae the likes of meh? He'll beh haven ye lay yer coat doon tae kape his precious toes from treaden on a puddle- or wipen his arse, if he isnae already. "

Renaldo barely blinked. The words fell upon him like dirt on an empty coffin. He felt too ancient, too browbeaten to react to what other men said of him, or to even care. Age had had a numbing effect after all.

"Do you presume to tell me what my duties are." He uttered, dry.

"Nae Ah have a lot more fun guessen." Anderson spat, grim.

Renaldo observant of Anderson and Maxwell's strange tension, had been unwilling to get between these two domineering personalities except in nearly imperceptible ways. He had always been at the confines like a clownish figure that stood behind the curtain to pull it aside for the main players, somewhat curious but mostly unconcerned about the quality of the dramas enacted there. But a strange thought occurred to Renaldo. Was Anderson behaving so… hostile towards Maxwell because he was … jealous? But of whom, and what? Was Anderson jealous that Maxwell had "taken" him away from the Orphanage? Or did it bother Anderson that Maxwell preferred someone else over him? It seemed preposterous to imagine that Anderson could ever harbor such imprudent pride and foolhardy possessiveness, that he might employ his psychological energies towards such a useless grudge. Then again if God were capable of jealousy,certainly Anderson was too.

Who was to know? The paladin was a mysterious and stubborn creature, who vacillated wildly between brutish violence and soppy sentimentality, spurred by motives not fathomable to anyone but himself- or maybe not even himself… Wasn't Anderson, just like most men, a hostage, at the mercy of his own nature?

" I do not seek a quarrel with you Alexander." Renaldo's moustache convulsed as he solemnly mumbled as these reflections nipped and gnawed at the base of his tongue, trying to drive something out that had no place being there at all. "And I … do not wish to waste either one of our time…."

Anderson's brilliant Babylon green eyes pinned and silenced Renaldo like bayonets.

"Then ye ought tae beh laven then shuildnae ye." The priest leaned forward, leering like a ugly beast head sticking out from a plaque, hands clenched like gnarled roots around his arm rests.

"What am I to tell him?" Renaldo said coldly.

"Ye can tell _oor eminence _if he has anything he wants tae say tae meh, he can coom say it tae meh himself, o' ere. Ah dunnae want any third parties. Ah can discuss teh terms and make a deal between oorselves." Anderson gritted.

"Are you aware that making such a offer is extremely…" Renaldo clenched his eyes shut and withheld a cringing sigh. "…impertinent."

" Aye, course Ah'm aware. Boot wat is Maxwell going tae dae, shoot meh in teh face?" The paladin fell back into his seat, making it vibrate with his harsh husky chuckle. "Dunnae teh fifth commandment dictate we shuild honor thy father and mother? Ah wuild like it very mooch if Maxwell wuild honor meh wit his presence, and pay his dear auld Father Andy a visit, like the prodigal son!"

He patted his enormous muscular thigh and winked at an angle, lending an sensual element to the brutally shaped jaw, and his wide crooked mouth . "Aye, tell him if he's a gude boy, Ah'll even let him sit on mah lap. "

That man had an crazy belief in his own imperviousness, Renaldo thought,gaping incredulously, but then again, he had a fair point.

Why should Anderson fear anybody? What could anyone do to him now? The paladin was more than equipped to take the most grievous bodily harm- he was too useful (at this point) to them to be rid off for any frivolous purpose, he cared nothing for wealth or material comforts, and as for psychological damage…not much more could be done there.

"And ye can give him these wit mah kind regards." Anderson picked the papers and crushed them into a ball and let it fall dismally to the table. He stood toweringly, like some impenetrable forlorn superstructure. "Are we done ere."

"It seems so." Renaldo quietly clamped the briefcase shut.

"Gude." Anderson marched out and away with a swoop of his coat. "And wit yer pardon sir, Ah shall be off tae teech mah Latin lesson."


End file.
